The Dark Reflection Part Two: Darkness Waning
by Margot11
Summary: A direct continuation of 'A Learning Experience' and 'The Dark Reflection'. How can Snape help Slytherin House and Harry Potter face the oncoming threat? Au and the same warnings apply as before.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Thanks to the guests and hamlet that commented on the last chapter! (I was intending to post this weekend, hamlet and 'guest'. But your nudge ensured I didn't forget!)

**Chapter 1: Tales Half Spun**

**Albus Dumbledore's office, 11:55 pm**

" … alas, Lucius Malfoy's guests are decidedly influential and he cannot run the risk of offending them. He will be here as soon as decorum permits."

There was no twinkle in Albus Dumbledore's eyes as he reported back to Snape.

"Severus? I do hope you haven't miscalculated. Should word get out of what took place, it will seem very suspicious, no?"

"Not at all, headmaster. Should word get out, then we make it known an older student dressed as a Death Eater to play a cruel prank on Malfoy … Bletchley would be perfect to take the fall."

**oOo**

Snape silently cursed Lucius all the way to the hospital wing. Lucius Malfoy: the fly in the ointment. The rest of the plan had gone like clockwork. Armitage-Brown had found the parchment on which Malfoy had plotted for everyone bar himself to enter Snape's study and search for Potter's cloak. Typical Malfoy, the others took a risk while he sat pretty. The ludicrous plan had been abandoned, but Malfoy's less than honourable intention was recorded in black and white for all to see. The head prefect had dangled it as bait for Bulstrode to set a revenge plan in motion. She contrived to get the boy out and alone in the Slytherin corridor. He was to act as decoy when Potter replaced the stolen note by lurking around smoking a cigarette. Should another professor enter the dungeon, Malfoy would leg it and the outraged professor give chase, thus enabling Potter to safely exit his quarters. But Bulstrode's real hope had been for Licorus to spot Malfoy and tattle. So subtle had Armitage-Brown been, Millicent Bulstrode was convinced the plan was all her doing.

No other professors had come down to the dungeons, of course they hadn't. The only one who ever ventured there was Minerva and, unbeknownst to everyone but himself and Armitage-Brown, she was already installed in his rooms with Polly Pinkerton. Polly had awaited her moment and clearly pulled off her turn as vengeful Death Eater with aplomb; Malfoy's childhood terror was back. It was beyond Minerva's skill set to deal with him, and so he'd been taken to the hospital wing along with Potter. Potter had been unwilling but Snape knew the reason for that. It wasn't that he wanted to get back and play more Sardines, nor was it lack of concern; it was worry over replacing the damned note _and_ the realisation that Malfoy needed Snape. With no time for niceties Snape had taken drastic measures to ensure Potter stayed literally right by Malfoy's side despite the boy pleading with him to help Malfoy.

"_My, my … what a sterling attribute you are to Slytherin House, Mister Potter … annoyed that you have to help an upset housemate when you could be having fun with the others …"_

"_It's not that! He wants __you__!"_

It was true, but Snape couldn't pour balm on Malfoy's fears before Lucius had seen him. His terror was the whole point of the charade; even Lucius Malfoy couldn't ignore such fear and pain in his own son. Surely? The icing on the cake would be for Lucius to see his son gaining comfort from 'the enemy': Harry Potter.

Snape had known Draco Malfoy's worst fear long before the boy gave voice to it. A Death Eater resurgence that would not only seek revenge on the cowardly Lucius, but look to ensnare Draco in the whole sorry mess. But were Albus' fears founded? Had Snape miscalculated? Any other father would have flown to his son's side on hearing he was so traumatized. Then again, not many fathers shared Malfoy Senior's pathological selfishness.

Snape nodded to Poppy, placed his finger on his lips to keep silent his presence, and eased himself onto the alcove bench to keep watch on Potter and Malfoy.

**oOo**

**The hospital wing**

Lavender talc, excessive face powder and lily of the valley scent. Harry could smell it before the head popped over his shoulder. Essence of fuss-pot old lady, caring and familiar. Not the kind of thing a teenaged boy admits to, but he secretly loved the smell of Madam Pomfrey and wished he could bottle it to sniff whenever the going got tough.

"How on earth did you get yourself into this pickle, Mister Malfoy? Scared stiff and too frightened to even whine about it; that's not like you at all."

Not a flutter from Malfoy. Not even a pucker of his thin lips on hearing Madam Pomfrey's not-so-veiled insult. Then again, Harry doubted he heard the old mediwitch - considering the amount of calming draught he'd had poured into him.

"I know!" Said Madam Pomfrey, "I'll move the other bed alongside Malfoy's. Make it into a double and you can both sleep. How about that?!"

Harry forced his drooping eyes to open wide and assured her he wasn't remotely tired. She looked unconvinced and came up with another idea,

"Well then, how about you hop up onto the side of this bed? You can spoon Malfoy and have a lovely little nap!"

Pomfrey was caring but nuts.

"_No_! No thanks, Madam Pomfrey. I'm fine; I really am."

"Silly boy! Oh well, if you change your mind, sing out. I shall only be in the store room sorting through my linens."

She bustled out of the ward, and Harry went back to doing the only thing he could: thinking, yawning and failing to find any rest. What were the others doing now, and why was he stuck here? Typical bloody Malfoy effing everything up. Sophie had planned for everyone to find the fourth Sardine before Snape did by trapping him in a long conversation about Murtlap tentacles, thus making him the next Sardine. Snape hidden away as Sardine was to be Harry's opportunity to sneak out and replace the note. Good plan. So good, in fact, that Harry had piggy-backed the idea and planned to have lush Tracey Davis as the next Sardine after Snape - with him the first to find her. Alone in a hiding spot with Tracey … even as the others barged in to spoil their solitude it would only serve to shove Harry up closer to her … what bliss. But no, The Platinum Pillock had stuffed it up royally. What could have happened to him? The only other person in the corridor had been McGonagall, and even she wasn't that scary.

He'd got the fright of his life when he saw Malfoy gibbering and bleating for Snape, but he was taking things a bit far now. Or maybe not … but Harry was way too tired to entertain those thoughts. So less demanding to be pissed off. And the note! What about replacing the bleeding note?! It had all turned to shit; not only was he condemned to cosset the drama queen, but Snape was bound to discover the missing note and give Harry the caning of his life. Bloody hell! Snape would cane the rest of them too - even Tracey. Maybe that was why Malfoy was pulling this scam. Maybe this was his back up plan for when things went tits up? Hole up in a hospital bed looking so pathetic and miserable that even Snape couldn't find it in his heart to cane him?

He knew his mind was racing. That's the trouble when you're given too much time to think; your mind takes itself off to bonkers locations. He also knew he had no right to be pissed off with Malfoy. Something had happened. Something bad. He remembered the Friday of his second week in Slytherin when Malfoy had thrown a monumental fit in the dorm. But that Friday had been so different; Snape had come racing to Malfoy's side then. Malfoy had sworn and fought and even kicked out at Snape. The Git had been stern enough to get his attention, and then treated him with hitherto unseen gentleness. Well where was he now? Had he grown tired of Malfoy's histrionics?

Malfoy rolled over in his sleep and Harry was yanked into an even more uncomfortable position. Now he was on his feet, bent over, stomach flat on the edge of the mattress, and his right arm curling around Malfoy's body. Sodding Snape and his sticking charm; The Git had stuck Harry's right hand to Malfoy's left forearm - and all so he could piss off and not bother dealing with Malfoy. Next thing he knew, Harry was on his toes as Malfoy pulled his knees up and placed his hands between his thighs. Okay … this looks well dodgy, thought Harry. Time to swallow his pride and ask Madam Pomfrey to move the other bed next to Malfoy's, but there was no way he was climbing up onto this one and spooning The Prat.

On the point of calling out, a footstep too heavy to be Madam Pomfrey's sounded. Snape? No. Despite his height, Snape was light on his feet, near silent. After the step came a dull thunk and a dragging noise and Harry instantly recognised it.

"Harry!" Came the harsh whisper.

"Professor Moody! Erm … hello … um how are you?"

Alastor Moody ignored the polite enquiry.

"What are you doing there, laddie?!"

Moody's eyeball swivelled in its brass housing and settled on the dubious location of Harry's right hand. Shit! I should've spooned Malfoy, thought Harry; this looks way worse.

"Had a bit of a fight … um … ended up getting stuck to Malfoy … should wear off in a bit …"

Why had he lied and let Snape off the hook? The Git had cast a sticking charm on him and Malfoy; surely it was against the rules for professors to do that? Harry was already miserable and exhausted and now that sodding sticking charm made it look like he was groping a defenceless Malfoy. It was most probably the lowest ebb of his Hogwarts' career. Then again, Moody was as inquisitive about the bizarre situation as Madam Pomfrey had been - that is, not at all. He might have only been teaching there a few months, but Moody was already continuing the proud Hogwarts' tradition of providing zero pastoral care; he simply grunted at Harry's explanation. Harry wasn't complaining, though. He took the opportunity to change the subject.

"How did you know I was here?"

Moody patted his pocket before pulling out the Marauders' Map.

"Your father's handiwork!"

"And the others."

"Sirius." Conceded Moody, "Lupin was probably disapproving, and Pettigrew … well … Never mind them, it's good to see you, laddie. Difficult to catch up now you're in Slytherin; Snape always seems to be lurking."

"Not always." Said Harry with feeling.

He wished Snape would start lurking right now. He couldn't put his finger on it but increasingly of late he'd been disquieted by Moody's presence.

"Do you need me for anything, sir?"

"Wanted to know you were alright. Bit of a shock to see you show up in the hospital." Moody again tapped the map, "Still one more task to go; need to keep your wits about you. Can't risk any accidents; do you hear me? I have great expectations of you in the next task, my boy!"

"I'll be careful." Said Harry, "By the way, can I have my map back?"

"Why?"

Harry wasn't sure. He didn't have any plans for it, just didn't want Moody to have it any longer.

"I can use it to see you after curfew; maybe talk to you about the next task?"

Then Harry took a punt on a feeling he had.

"Plus it helps me do stuff Professor Snape doesn't approve of!"

The punt paid off; Moody liked that answer.

"That's the spirit! Get one over on old Snape!"

The ex-auror handed over the map, prodded Malfoy and pronounced him useless, then stumped out of the ward. Harry felt uneasy at Moody's visit, though he didn't have time to analyse it; his attention was taken by the figure in black gliding rapidly out of the shadows and straight for him.

**oOo**

Snape came out swinging a counter-spell to the sticking charm. In a trice Harry was roughly pulled to standing and yanked over Snape's left hip as he snatched the Marauders' Map from his back pocket.

"Your foolishness is incomprehensible!" He hissed.

Harry recognised the look on his face. It was the same one that had greeted them at the quidditch pitch the day they'd all nicked off to Hogsmeade. Yeah well, Snape had been right to be furious that day, but now after everything he'd done to Harry? No effing way!

"Why are you pissed off, and where have you been?! He's been calling for you for hours. Some sodding housemaster you are; you couldn't give a shit!"

Dangerous ground, Harry knew it. But the switch from miserable exhaustion to anger felt so good. So _satisfying_. Was that why Snape chose to be almost permanently bloody irate? Had he fooled them all? Did being a snarky shitbag somehow make Snape the most satisfied person in Hogwarts? The rush of anger coursed through him, and the stiff back and neck he'd got from being draped over Malfoy's bed were gone instantly. Brilliant!

"You arrogant little wretch! How dare you …?"

The raised voices caused Malfoy to stir from his torpor. Harry looked down to him, but anger was a drug and he craved another hit.

"Are you going to keep him dosed up with happy juice? Pretend he's not suffering? Yeah, let's all ignore him; let's leave him here until he 'snaps out of it', shall we?!"

The next thing he knew, he'd been forced over the next bed. Harry cringed as he awaited Snape's iron hand to come thundering down. Only it didn't. The urgent tones of Madam Pomfrey caused Snape to pull Harry up and thrust him back on the visitor's chair, where Malfoy reached out and grasped his hand.

An altogether more exotic scent preceded the arrival of the next person to enter the ward. It was accompanied by rustling silk.

"Severus! We came as soon as _I_ heard."

Snape noted the deliberate choice of subject pronoun, and then proceeded to twist the knife.

"Your dinner companions weren't too inconvenienced by your leaving, I hope?"

He almost wished he hadn't. Lucius shook his head mutely and looked with agonised eyes at his son. Slowly and quietly, he joined his wife at the bedside, and for the first time, noted Harry's presence with surprise. Harry felt himself dragged to standing.

"Leave, Potter. Go back to the dormitory and get to bed."

He couldn't wait to oblige. Snape was being a prick. As he turned, a smooth alabaster hand reached out and took his.

"We're so grateful you stayed with Severus to watch our son. Thank you." Said Narcissa.

**oOo**

Free of the hospital ward, Harry began to think about the night's events. Something really bad had happened to Malfoy. Snape didn't care but as soon as Malfoy's parents turned up, he snapped into action. Phoney tosser. And why did The Git have a go at him? What had Harry done? He wanted to go back and tell The Malfoys that Snape had done nothing to help their son but he wasn't sure he had the bottle. In lieu of that, he kicked out at a corridor settee sending it skidding to the other side.

"Get to bed, Potter. Your tiredness is making you pettish."

He was unaware that Snape had followed him out, but he didn't jump in alarm; instead he immediately bristled. He hated that word. 'Pettish' was a Snape word; he used it for the lower school and to humiliate his older students. Harry'd made a fool of himself when Snape first called him it. He'd assumed it meant docile, like a pet Spaniel and had gone on to inform Snape that he wasn't anyone's pet, flipping over the Monopoly board he'd been using to prove his point. Snape had given a theatrical sigh before grabbing his earlobe and parading him around the common room as he solicited definitions of 'pettish' simple enough for even Harry to understand. Unsurprisingly, it was Malfoy who'd supplied the definition Snape most approved of: _peevish, behaving in the manner of a bad-tempered child_. Harry had had to write out that definition fifty times before being sent to his dorm. He _really_ hated that word.

"I'm not pettish! I'm pissed off and I've got every right to be! Tell you who else should be pissed off: Malfoy's parents. They think you stayed with him but you didn't. You buggered off and left him on his own; only came back when they arrived. Maybe I'll go in and tell them, eh?"

Snape grabbed him and shook him so hard he could've sworn his teeth rattled.

"You, Potter, have every right to be down in my study answering for your appalling disrespect, which is exactly where you will be when I have the time to deal with you."

He let go of Harry's arms, and waved him off.

"Get down to the dungeons and into bed. If anyone asks about Malfoy, you tell them you brought him up to Madam Pomfrey with a stomach upset. Do I make myself clear?"

Maturity doesn't make a person immune from indulging in angry tirades. However, it does grant the presence of mind to question why the other person is acting in that manner. Being just fourteen, Harry was unencumbered by any such meddlesome queries. He stomped down to the dungeons so loudly it was a miracle he didn't wake the entire castle, and then tossed and turned in bed certain of three things: he was beyond reproach, Snape was a shithead and being in Slytherin sucked big time.

**oOo**

**The following day, Slytherin common room, 7:40 am**

"But you know," Wheedled Pansy, "_We_ didn't really do anything … Potter stole the exam paper and Weasley did the plotting."

"Pansy!" Chided Tracey.

Pansy threw up her palms in supplication,

"I'm just saying!"

"I know you're 'just saying', " Said Hermione, "but you also 'just said' the Slytherin Oath, so we're all in this together!"

Hermione and the rest of the girls all heard Pansy's whispered '_who does she think she is?!_' to Daphne, but said nothing. Not knowing what was going on and the prospect of being in trouble with Snape had made them all tetchy.

"I can't just sit here!" Hermione declared, "I don't care if the boys' dorms are off-limits; I'm going up."

She lurched off the sofa but Millicent grabbed hold of her.

"Pretty certain Snape was joking last night about slippering you, but if he catches you up there, he'll do it."

That made her pause for a second, but she had to know what had gone on last night. Why hadn't Harry reappeared? Where did Draco go? Had the plan worked? Or did Snape know everything?

"Forget it, Mills; she's determined." Said Pansy, loosening Millicent's hold and leading Hermione to the boys' stairs, "Third door on the right." She whispered.

Hermione thanked Pansy and bolted up the stairs. A quick knock and she plunged through the third door - to be greeted by the sight of Michelangelo's David made flesh. In particular, David's deliciously rounded bottom and tautly muscled thighs. David's head quickly turned into profile as he looked over his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry AB! I'm so, _so_ sorry! I thought … I umm …"

"Tell you what, Hermione; you leave, I'll get dressed, and we forget this happened." Offered AB graciously.

"Yes! Yes, let's do that. I'll just go. This didn't happen. I was never here. We won't say a word."

"Are you off, then?"

"I'm off … I'm going … be gone in a mo' …" She babbled.

Hermione backed out of the room. She ought to have felt annoyed at Pansy's mischief-making and foolish at her own clumsiness. She couldn't, however, summon either emotion. An unhindered view of Slytherin's head prefect was, Hermione decided, the perfect antidote to worrying about last night. Still mesmerized, she jumped as Malcolm Baddock tore around the corner slap bang into her.

"Hang on! You're a girl! You can't be in the boys' dorms! I'm telling Professor Snape!"

Hermione wasn't taking that from a first-year Snake, not after their head prefect had been so thoroughly accommodating of her presence.

"Go ahead if you like, but Professor Snape told me to come. I'm doing an inventory of laundry dropped onto dorm floors. He's furious that the elves have to search for lost clothing. I'm supposed to start with the fourth-years but I'm not sure where to go. Between you and me," Whispered Hermione, "he's going to make a _real_ example of them at morning inspection …"

Malcolm's eyes went wide at that news, and Hermione almost chirruped with delight at how easily intimidating a first-year came to her. She felt like Pansy! Malcolm pointed her in the right direction before beetling off to check under his own bed for discarded socks and underpants. Irritating first-year dealt with and a blow struck for S.P.E.W. into the bargain; Hermione was beginning to feel like she belonged in Slytherin. She again knocked on a door and plunged in, though this time with her hand over her eyes.

"I'm not looking!"

"More fool you!" Shot back Blaise Zabini en route to the bathroom.

Harry groaned, then bolted from his bed. He calculated he'd had approximately seventeen minutes' sleep. The thought did occur to him to shove her out and slam the door, but then he knew his pal; that wouldn't keep her quiet at all. Almost weeping with tiredness, he turned Hermione to the wall and reluctantly got dressed, not bothering to put on socks and throwing his sweater on back to front. Bundling Hermione out of the dorm and down the boys' stairs, they both arrived in the common room and came face to face with a smirking Pansy. Hermione tutted a 'very childish, Pansy' but then couldn't help smirking along with the scheming Slytherin as she and Harry made for the games corner. "Naughty girl!" Said Pansy following them.

"_Oof_!"

A shove to the shoulders saw Harry trip over a footstool and face plant onto an ancient leather sofa. It could only have been Millicent Bulstrode.

"Where the frigging hell did you get to last night, Potter?!"

"Don't ask." Mumbled Harry to the time-worn leather.

"I _am_ asking! And where's Malfoy; is he up in the dorm?"

Harry didn't need this. He'd had a great night ruined courtesy of Messrs' Prat and Git _and_ virtually no sleep; Hermione had gone mental, barging in and waking him from the one scrap of rest he'd managed to get, and now Millicent was starting in on him.

"I was with Malfoy almost all bloody night - in the hospital."

"_Why_?!"

In his fog of weariness he wondered why Millicent was sounding so frantic; then remembered it was she who'd plotted to have Malfoy out alone in the corridor. It annoyed him to go along with Snape's alternative version of events, but the truth was he didn't know what had happened to Malfoy, and he knew they'd keep hounding him for information he didn't have. Reluctantly, he trotted out Snape's lie.

"Overdosed on birthday cake and felt sick. You know Malfoy; he's not going to take an upset stomach in his stride. He's making a right song and dance of it. And by the way, Millicent? If you were so worried, why didn't you come looking for Malfoy or me?"

"Don't you think we tried?" Countered Millicent, "AB was left in charge and he out-Snaped Snape, handing out notes left, right and centre at anyone trying to look for you. I got two!"

"Let's keep calm." Said Tracey, "We might be up to our necks in it soon enough; we can't fall out with each other. Snape'll be angry enough for all of us."

"Well said." Added Hermione before launching the next barrage of questions.

"Is that the reason you didn't come back to Sardines? Were you taking Malfoy to Madam Pomfrey?"

Harry nodded.

"Is the exam paper back on Snape's shelves? Did the plan work?"

"No and no."

"_What_?!"

That was Zabini. He'd showered and joined the group.

"Hear that, Greg?" Groaned Crabbe.

He and Goyle had also joined the group, along with Adrian Pucey.

"Hang on a moment; why didn't Snape take Malfoy there?" Demanded Adrian, "He left Sardines almost straight after you, Potter."

Exhaustion caused Harry's head to pound, his eyes to throb, and his mood to worsen. Sod Snape; he was going to tell the others exactly what had gone on.

"Yeah well, Snape just bloody well went and …"

"_Professor_ Snape just went to deal with an urgent matter - a matter far more urgent than _pettish_ students."

Bloody hell! How long had he been standing there? All eyes flew to Snape. How much did he hear?! But Snape passed no comment on the prior conversation, and immediately honed in on Hermione.

"Miss Granger … "

She shuffled in her chair and twiddled a strand of hair.

"Perhaps you can explain why I've been inundated with first-year boys attempting to explain why items of their underwear are missing? What exactly have you been up to?"

"I … I …"

Hermione stammered repeatedly, which kind of pleased Harry. It felt good not to be the person who was copping it, and he was still annoyed she'd woken him up. Then he felt mean. Hermione was only being Hermione: trying to help and being mental in the process. If Snape found out she'd been in the boys' dorms, he'd have a fit. The youngest professor in Hogwarts also had the most antiquated notions on the comportment of the sexes.

"_Sir_!"

Saved! Alicia and the rest of the first-year girls came from nowhere to swarm Snape.

"Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! Last night was the best! The best birthday party ever! _Ever_!"

Alicia gave a pointed look at Elsa and Astoria. Elsa fell into line.

"It was, Lissy. Yours was the best birthday party. Better than mine."

"_Yes_!"

Alicia fist-pumped the air. Snape attempted to keep glowering at Hermione but his excited fan club meant he had to break eye contact as he shoved the first-years away, and the moment was lost. He roared at the house to line up for inspection.

**oOo**

Of course Snape couldn't give up the opportunity to ridicule Harry for his poor standard of dress. Crabbe was sent to retrieve socks for him, and Zabini was prevailed upon to explain the correct way to wear a sweater. Hermione was thanked for visiting, Snape remarking she appeared comfortable in the dungeons. She couldn't help but agree - and then wished she hadn't.

"So comfortable, in fact, you seem just like one of my merry band of Snakes. Break any more rules, Miss Granger, and I'll treat you _exactly_ as I would them."

"Point taken, sir." Blushed Hermione.

"The news of the day is that Mister Malfoy indulged in far too much cake last night. Potter took him to Madam Pomfrey, and he'll stay there until his stomach settles."

His head did a rapid swivel to Alicia.

"A minor miracle _you_ haven't been rushed to St Mungo's. Well done Mister Potter for volunteering to sit with him; you may visit him after breakfast. The rest of you will stay away. I won't have Madam Pomfrey bothered. Clear?"

They nodded and Snape despatched them to breakfast, but not before collaring Harry,

"My study. Directly after seeing Malfoy."

**oOo**

Ron was waiting for them at the top of the dungeon stairs. Hermione grabbed both his hand and Harry's, and pulled them under the southern stairs. Millicent kept watch for Snape and when she saw he wasn't coming, bolted there too.

"Guess what!" Exclaimed Ron.

"What?" Asked Hermione.

"Snape's not a total freak!"

"Yes he is _and_ he's a twat." Snarled Harry.

"Harry!" Chided Hermione.

"Oh yeah well twattish he may be," Conceded Ron, "but he can't be a _complete_ freak. He's got a girlfriend! And she's bloody lovely!"

"No way!" Then Harry thought some more, "Probably some poor cow he's put under an _Imperius_."

"Has he?" Hermione asked Millicent.

"Dunno. But he is young and single." Said Millicent.

"Yeah … but _Snape_?!" Ron screwed up his face at the prospect, "I mean, would you?"

"You're asking the wrong person, Weasley." Replied Millicent.

"Hang on! How do you know?" Demanded Hermione.

"Saw her last night. She helped me when I was in his rooms. You know, you're right Harry; he _is_ still a twat. Only had his floo booby-trapped, didn't he? Sneaky git!"

"What?! _You_ floo'd into his rooms? Why?!" Millicent asked before Harry and Hermione could.

"The plan, remember?" Ron looked at them and rolled his eyes, "You know; putting back the exam paper?!"

"I thought I was doing that!" Said Harry.

"You were. Then Malfoy changed it - in case you couldn't get away from Snape."

Harry slumped back on the stone bench.

"Why? Malfoy's never that thoughtful. Something about this is off."

"Is the paper back on the shelf?" Asked Hermione.

"Yup." Said Ron.

"Then Malfoy's saved your bacon, Harry. It was quick thinking of him. But you're right … things aren't as they seem …"

"What do you mean?" Asked Millicent.

"I'm not sure yet." Murmured Hermione, "I need to think."

Ron slapped his forehead in disbelief.

"We're missing breakfast!"

Hermione wanted time alone to contemplate. When she'd worked through her thoughts, they'd meet.

"Where?" Asked Harry.

"How about the old bell tower?" She suggested.

"I'm coming, too." Said Millicent, "This is a joint Slytherin-Gryffindor mission; we work together on this."

Then Ron caught a waft of bacon from the main hall and started edging away.

"See you in there, yeah?" He said to Harry as he turned and skedaddled with Millicent.

As soon as she said the words 'bell tower', Harry remembered that odd afternoon he'd spent with AB. Warm and dependable AB … yet the head prefect hadn't seemed so that afternoon. He'd been cagey and enigmatic, and Harry hadn't been able to pin down his motives. But the rare treat of AB's recounting of how he'd fallen foul of Snape and received such a walloping had masked all that. On reflection, tales had been half spun and left to dangle; Harry hated that. But he'd had no time to dwell on it, for the second it was over, it was full steam ahead with plotting to get that bloody note back on Snape's shelf.

And now the note was back. Relief - but also a bit of a let down. Adrenalin was no longer front and centre in Harry's brain; he had time to think on other matters. The bell tower. The bell tower and AB. The memory of it suddenly filled Harry with anger. What had the head prefect kept from him that afternoon, and why? Why had AB stopped Millicent from looking for him last night? His anger grew to encompass more people. Why had Snape abandoned Malfoy? What the hell happened last night? Why was Malfoy being such a bloody drama queen, and why had his parents turned up? Harry couldn't recall any other parents clogging the hallways when a son or daughter went into the hospital wing. Sod breakfast, thought Harry. I'm going up there. Malfoy can stop dicking around and give me some answers.

**oOo**

Such a bloody effort to drag himself up even one flight of stairs, his legs felt like lead. And for what? To talk to Draco sodding Malfoy. The scent of Madam Pomfrey did nothing to lighten his spirits. They sank even lower as she prodded him onto the ward. Look at him, thought Harry … Lord Muck … propped up on a mountain of pillows … but he looks way better than last night … come to think of it, he looks way better than I've ever seen him … are his cheeks actually pink? He looks like a normal person for once, and not an albino vampire.

"I heard you wanted to see me."

"I _don't_!"

"Too bad, you prat. I wanna know what was going on last night."

Harry pushed Malfoy's blanketed feet over and heaved himself up onto the end of the bed. As he leant back, the iron footboard dug uncomfortably into his lower back. The discomfort must have shown in his face.

"My apologies, Princess Potter," sneered Malfoy, sparing one of his many pillows, "you'd better take this."

Harry knew then that Malfoy really did want to see him. Even so, the tit made a great performance of shrugging and evading Harry's repeated enquiries as to what had gone on. Just as Harry gave up and started picking lint off the woollen blanket, Malfoy spoke.

"Ezra Vickery. Remember him?"

Harry did. The bogeyman of Malfoy's childhood, or bogeymen. Faceless Death Eater ghouls that had visited Malfoy Manor. Harry had an inkling they'd come to taunt or threaten his father. Malfoy might not have admitted as much, but he'd dropped plenty of clues. Lucius Malfoy, the great pretender … the pathetic wannabe so zealous about Pure Blood supremacy, he was almost certain to be anything but. Lucius the weak-willed coward, who visited the scorn he received on his only son. At that moment, a glimmer of light shone in Harry's mind. All of this was Lucius. Harry didn't know how or why, but whatever had happened last night had Lucius fucking Malfoy at its epicentre.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." He eventually answered Malfoy.

"He came calling last night - only it was a she."

"Shit."

"You think my father's bad … you have no idea."

Harry did think Lucius Malfoy was bad but the more he thought about it, there was something a bit 'off' about his badness. It sounded mental to say it but Malfoy's dad seemed more spiteful than threatening. Does a truly evil adult spend his time mocking the Weasley children's hand me downs? The man was beginning to seem like a desperate fucker. Christ! Don't say that to Malfoy; he'll get all defensive and narky.

"I met your mum last night. She seemed nice."

"My father is too!"

Bollocks, thought Harry; I've blown it. But Malfoy's stroppiness soon burned itself out.

"Something changed last night. I don't know what it was but something about my father changed."

"Good change?"

Malfoy gave a wary nod. Harry wanted to ask him about Snape but he couldn't think of what to say without slagging him off. Couldn't ask him why The Git had left him whimpering and traumatized for hours. Maybe Malfoy had been so out of it that he didn't realise Snape had abandoned him. No. Keep shtum, Harry ordered himself.

"Shit almighty, Malfoy … I knew something serious happened. You were so upset."

"I wasn't!"

Really, Malfoy? We're _really_ doing this?

"Come off it, Malfoy."

"I was injured alright; she bloody crucio'd me! But the rest of it I could handle."

"Yep." Said a patently unconvinced Harry.

"It was play-acting! I was on patrol; McGonagall was about to catch me with fags in my pocket!"

"Patrol?!"

"Yes. Patrol. Remember the plan Millicent and I came up with? I was the last line of defence in case one of you lot cocked up replacing the exam paper. I was pretending I'd sneaked out for a fag in case a professor came down to the dungeons. That way, I'd take the fall and the berk replacing the paper would be able to get away. And McGonagall did come down; she was about to make me empty my pockets and drag me off to Snape. That's why I made such a fuss; I had to make it look convincing, you tosser."

Harry recognised the Slytherin half-truths. Malfoy was out in the corridor but no way had he chosen to do it; Millicent had forced him into it. The Prat didn't break rules - unless he was having one of his epic tantrums. But he didn't bother telling Malfoy he was talking shit. Snape's disappearing act was still bugging him, and he couldn't make sense of the McGonagall time line. Something was wrong there. Again his brain was too crowded and too achingly tired to work it out. Faced with such frustrating uncertainties, Harry snatched at the one thing he did know to be true.

"_You're_ the tosser! Why didn't you tell me Ron was replacing the paper?!"

"You mean he did it?! Ha! Well done, Weasley … You should have seen his face when I told him to do it!"

"You changed the plan just 'cos you knew Ron would be scared?! You know, Malfoy? You always have been and always will be a wanker."

"That's not why I did it! It was just an added bonus. Look, imagine Snape had been watching you when you went to sneak out? You'd never have got his note back and we'd have all been bending over around now for the sodding cane. Last minute change, Potter; I didn't have time to tell you."

"We were stood next to each other for fifteen minutes when Arno was the Sardine; how long would it have taken?!"

"Stop whining. It all worked out, and in any case, you should be worrying about other things!"

Malfoy's eyes glinted.

"Why?" Asked Harry, so tired that even the iron bedstead was beginning to feel comfortable.

"I heard you yelling and swearing at Snape - been given an 'appointment' in his study yet?!"

Malfoy didn't need an answer, Harry's face was a dead giveaway.

"Good luck with that!" Laughed Malfoy.


	2. More Questions Than Answers

**A/N 1:** Hamlet? I'm blushing! Thank you. Fan, it's lovely to hear from you again. And thank you to the other guests!

**A/N 2: **Just a shortish one this time - mainly because there ain't no Snape, and when he's not around I tend not to linger (I really am a hopeless case!) But fear not, Snape fanciers - he's back with a vengeance in the next chapter.

**A/N 3:** Talking of the next chapter, it won't be posted until the first week of January. The story's in first draft form but I have a ton of work plus a horde of house guests descending - no time to polish it for posting, which is the part I really enjoy. So, merry Christmas or happy Chanukah (or both for families like mine!), or if you don't celebrate, I wish you non-specific merriment. See you in January!

**Chapter 2: More Questions Than Answers**

**The hospital wing, 9:45 am**

A tangerine _boinked!_ off Harry's head and somehow shot up in the air. He caught it before spinning around to question its sender.

"_What_?"

"You seeing Granger today?"

"Yep."

"Oh."

Draco Malfoy looked like the one child Father Christmas had forgotten. Harry took a step forward and peered at him. The Prat seemed as right as rain now and Harry recalled the crushing boredom of having to stay put in a hospital bed when you felt perfectly able to get up and leave.

"Hermione wanted to come up." He lied, "Only Snape's banned visitors … she can't."

Malfoy brightened.

"Yes well, I'm still Senior Advisor. Once I'm out of here, she'll have to come and meet with me to debrief. In fact, I'll need to interview all of you. Tell everyone to make themselves available."

Back to being an arrogant arse, then. All was right with Malfoy's world; Harry could safely leave.

**oOo**

"A nice surprise!"

Harry stopped mid-corridor and looked around. No one. Were the walls speaking to him again?

"Delightful, in fact!"

Back near the entrance to the ward, he spied an ample bottom poking out of a cupboard. It bustled backwards and the muffled voice repeated itself clearly this time.

"You two are very close; who'd have thought it? Young Malfoy of all people. But it's lovely to see!" Said Madam Pomfrey. "So _very_ close!"

Harry's face turned crimson; had Madam Pomfrey seen his hand stuck between Malfoy's legs last night?!

"Erm … not really. I wouldn't say we're very close."

"No need for embarrassment."

Oh no … could Harry sense a mediwitch talk on how 'the love that dare not speak its name' really was fine, healthy and normal?

"Sticking charm!" He blurted out, "Professor Snape put a sticking charm on us!"

"He hasn't this morning dear, and yet here you are!"

If Voldemort was going to kill him, Harry couldn't think of a finer moment than this one.

"The girls and I were so worried about you last year … going down to the dungeons … all on your lonesome …"

"Girls?" Queried Harry.

It transpired the 'girls' were McGonagall, Sprout, Sinistra, Grubbly-Plank and Trelawney. Harry made a poor show of stifling a snort at the inapposite term. Madam Pomfrey spotted it and grinned along with him.

"You know dear, everyone's embarrassed about using the bedpan …"

What?!

"Number twos, especially."

Oh bloody hell! Why were mediwitches so … so _anatomical_? And where was this conversation heading?

"Eagle, snake, badger or lion, everyone dislikes the bedpan. So there it is; you're all the same really! Marvellous that you've made friends! Now off you pop, Potter!"

**oOo**

Lily of the valley scent, the sweet smell of face powder and an air of dottiness lingered comfortingly with Harry, so too did the news that Pomfrey and her pals had been worried about him. His exhaustion was changing from crotchety near-despair to languid haziness. He paused a moment to think on her words. His fibbing about Hermione wanting to visit Malfoy had been an act of friendship, hadn't it? Was he friends with Malfoy? He knew he was friends with Hermione and Ron, but Malfoy? He'd declared them both friends that night they'd played 'Ghosts in the Graveyard' and got trapped in the sarcophagus … but then Malfoy had gone on to be a real dick. What did 'friends' mean? He remembered Christmas 1990. His Aunt Petunia had made a rare sortie into the world of 'weird' and written a poem …

_F You're __**f**__unny_

_R You're __**r**__eliable_

_I You're __**i**__ngenious_

_E You're __**e**__ngaging_

_N You're __**n**__ice_

_D You're __**d**__ependable_

_I suppose this makes you a __**friend**__!_

This towering literary achievement had been emblazoned on china mugs - Uncle Vernon having got a special deal with the man who did the_ Grunnings_ letterheads - and given to all the women in Privet Drive. Mrs Singh at number nine had been slow to reciprocate, and Harry recalled his aunt standing at the living room window loudly wondering if Mrs Singh's net curtains couldn't do with a good wash and how the Singh family car really ought to be parked elsewhere; the car being so ancient it lowered the tone of the whole street. Maybe that was it. Maybe Malfoy was a friend like Aunt Petunia was.

He shuffled his weary legs towards the central staircase and took hold of the bannister lest his fatigue cause him to tumble down the entire flight. But his grip firmed almost immediately; he had it! That annoying buzz in the back of his mind … that niggle as to why Malfoy's version of events couldn't possibly be the truth came to him in a flash. His exhaustion was jettisoned as Harry leapt four stairs at a time … straight into the brick wall that was Millicent Bulstrode.

"Sorry! I've got to see Hermione!"

"You're taking me with you." She told him.

**oOo**

**The old belfry, 10:20 am**

"Harry! Millicent! Sit down and listen to me!"

"No." Harry told Hermione, "I've figured something out; _you_ need to listen."

"You can have your turn as soon as you've listened to me." Hermione promised, not giving Harry a split second before she launched into what she wanted to say.

"Malfoy hasn't got an upset stomach. He didn't even eat any birthday cake; he gave it to Goyle. I saw him. Something bad happened to him and Snape knows what it is. And I bet McGonagall knows too. I've been watching them give each other funny looks at high table. I thought they'd had words, but now I think they were just tense. I bet they knew something was going to happen, and they've been waiting for it."

"You're sort of right," Said Harry, "But you should've listened to me first …"

He enjoyed that; didn't get to say it often.

"Something bad did happen to Malfoy. He was attacked by a Death Eater …"

"_What_?!" Cried both Millicent and Hermione.

"Wait." Said Harry, "He's fine now. Remember I told you he was in a right state with McGonagall and that's why she sent me to get Snape?"

They remembered that from their pre-breakfast discussion.

"Yeah well, in the hospital he told me he wasn't upset; he was putting on an act 'cos McGonagall was about to make him turn out his pockets …"

"My frigging fault." Sighed Millicent, "I made him take those fags."

Hermione shot her a disapproving stare.

"Hold on." Urged Harry, "Think about the timeline. Malfoy comes face to face with a Death Eater, McGonagall sees him - and I mean, you should've seen him; he was shaking and gibbering like a baboon - and she makes him turn out his pockets?! Even she's not that strict."

"But," Said Hermione, "his shaking and gibbering was an act to stop McGonagall finding Millicent's stupid cigarettes, wasn't it?"

"No. He really did see a Death Eater. He told me this morning and I believe him."

"Who was it?" Asked Hermione.

"They wear masks." Said Millicent ominously, "You never know who it is."

"Right." Murmured Hermione quietly.

Harry returned to the point he was trying to make.

"But the important thing is the place and the timeline. Malfoy meets the Death Eater; the Death Eater leaves, and McGonagall straight away comes down the corridor."

The two girls looked blankly at Harry.

"Well, where did the Death Eater go?" Asked Harry, "There's only one way out; McGonagall must have passed the Death Eater in the corridor, or on the stairs."

They all flumped back on the makeshift hessian chairs, subsumed with thought.

"Two possibilities." Said Millicent eventually, "One, the Death Eater pulled off their mask. But then why didn't McGonagall raise the alarm that an outsider was here in Hogwarts? Number two: the Death Eater is someone from Hogwarts, and didn't cause any suspicion."

Possibility number two was a downer and no mistake. But then the grim option is so often the magnetic one, drawing you inexorably to it. Harry stared at his shoes, so tired he forgot to blink. His eyes ached and began to pool with water. Who could the covert Death Eater be? Filch? Had he been playing the long game and only pretending to be a squib? No. Malfoy had said it was a woman. Professor Burbage? Perfect cover pretending to love muggles. Sinistra? Sinister by name, sinister by nature? Trelawney? No chance. The moment Pomona Sprout entered his head as a possible double agent, he gave up in disgust. He was rubbish at all this murky, double-dealing stuff.

"There's a third possibility," Said Hermione, after a very long time.

Thank God for that, thought Harry.

"And it goes back to what I was saying about Snape and McGonagall. She didn't raise any alarm because she knew who the Death Eater was, and she came to Malfoy straight after because it had all been planned …"

"So the Death Eater wasn't a real one?" Asked Harry, "It couldn't have been, not with McGonagall there. No way."

He refused point blank to warp his brain to the extent it considered McGonagall capable of joining the dark side.

"Unless we look at my second possibility; that the Death Eater was someone from Hogwarts …" Said Millicent.

"Wouldn't Malfoy have recognised them, even with the mask? I mean a mask can't change the way you talk or walk."

"Probs." Said Millicent, a second before she leapt to her feet.

"You're right, Brainbox! _Of course_ it was a plan, and _of course_ they're both in on it! Just think; if there'd been the slightest suspicion that there'd been a Death Eater, the whole castle would be on lockdown! We'd all be trapped in our dorms until aurors had scoured this place!"

Or in the Great Hall, thought Harry, recalling the night after Sirius' attempt to get past The Fat Lady. But any pangs he might have felt at the thought of Sirius were momentary; _this_ was too important. He knew Millicent was right; the trouble was, he didn't have a clue what Snape and McGonagall were up to. Should he be pleased or alarmed that they'd been plotting? Though he didn't have an answer to that, he couldn't help feeling comforted by the notion of McGonagall and The Git working together.

"But how could it have been a plan?"

Millicent was talking to herself and pacing.

"Snape didn't know Malfoy would be out in the corridor. Before I told Malfoy, the only one to know about it was me - and AB. How could they plan to have a fake Death Eater approach Malfoy in a place they had no idea he'd be? And why do that anyway? It makes no sense."

Harry was as bamboozled as Millicent. He looked hopefully to Hermione, who now had both forefingers massaging her temples. The thinking pose.

"Harry?" She asked after some time, "What exactly do you remember of the note you stole from Snape?"

"Note? It was an exam paper, second year potions."

He trotted out the lie that AB had furnished him with, but Hermione wasn't having any of it. She shook her head disapprovingly.

"No Harry, it was a note. I thought AB was going to explain it but he didn't, so you need to remember whatever you can."

Harry was gaping like a fish.

"Wha .. wha … what do you know about it?!"

He knew Hermione was hugely clever, but now she was just being freaky.

"You weren't even here! You _can't_ know!"

"The paper chase? The whacking Snape gave AB? I was here, under the sacks. At one point, you nearly put your feet up on me. And before you say anything, I wasn't being sneaky. I'd come here first to get away from Lavender and Parvati. I would've excused myself but I didn't want you to know I'd been crying."

Harry thought back to the Easter weekend. Brown and Patil's rush to take offence over Hermione's dental hygiene gift basket, and the ensuing bullying. It all made sense.

"Hang on, Potter. You came up here with AB?" Asked Millicent, "And he told you about The Great Chase?"

"Yeah." Answered Harry.

"Hmm." Was all Millicent said.

In fact, all three started 'hmming'. It carried on for quite some time. Millicent interspersed her 'hmms' with mutterings about AB while Hermione broke off her 'hmms' to intermittently ask Harry if he could remember _anything_ that had been written on Snape's note. Harry couldn't, and he just 'hmmed' with tiredness.

"We need a place to meet." Said Millicent, "We can't keep legging it all the way here; someone's bound to see us."

"What about the kitchen linen closet?" Suggested Harry, "That's handy."

"No." Millicent said, "Alicia knows about that and if what I'm thinking is right, we don't want the rest of Slytherin knowing about this."

"Your alcove up on the second floor, Harry! That'll be perfect!" Suggested Hermione.

"Can't." Said Harry, "Snape knows about it. I saw him look for me there when he thought I'd run off to Hogsmeade."

"If what I'm thinking is correct, then Snape knowing about it isn't a problem …"

Harry watched as Millicent gave Hermione a warm smile. He wished he had an inkling what it was they both suspected but his brain was now giving up normal functioning. So much had happened in the last twenty-eight hours - and only about seventeen minutes of it had been sleep. Images skittered past his open eyes: Goyle hamming it up in the old torture chamber pretending Crabbe was applying thumb screws; Ron telling them Snape had a girlfriend; shortarse Alicia desperate to be put on the stretching rack; Tracey; the cavernous torture chamber; Malfoy's look of abject terror; Tracey; being bollocked by Snape for no reason; Narcissa Malfoy's soft cool hand on his; Tracey; bonkers Hermione waking him up; Snape sticking him to Malfoy then buggering off; Lucius Malfoy looking alarmed and very _un_-sneery; a tangerine thudding onto his head; yelling at Snape; Ron telling him the note had been replaced; Tracey. It was all getting blurred now. He had to fight for details. Should he be worried? No, that's right. Ron had told him the note was back on Snape's shelf. The thoughts skittered once more: Pucey the charmer with his torture chamber escape rope; Malfoy and Hermione's flirty teasing; Tracey; him swearing and shouting at Snape …

"Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh SHIT!"

"_Harry_!"

"What's up?!"

"How did I forget?! How did I sodding forget?! He's gonna bloody murder me! That's it; I'm a dead man!"

"What _is_ it?!" Screeched Hermione.

"I was supposed to see Snape straight after visiting Malfoy. He wants 'a chat'."

"Oh! That's wonderful Harry!" Said Hermione, clapping her hands.

Harry stared at her as if she were mad. Millicent snorted.

"Don't you see?" Asked Hermione, "This whole Death Eater swooping down on Malfoy wasn't real; it was engineered. I'm convinced of it. And it was engineered by McGonagall and Snape; I'm just as convinced. But we need to work out why. It's great that he wants to chat with you. Chatting to him is the perfect opportunity to probe for more information. Ask him how Professor McGonagall is; try and get details of how close they are, see if he gives anything away. I know! Tell him Draco told you about the Death Eater; then tell him you're really worried - see what his reaction is …"

"I don't think it's that kind of chat, Brainbox." Said Millicent.

"What do you mean?" Realisation struck Hermione. "Oh, _Harry_! Are you in trouble? _Again_?!"

"Sort of." Shrugged Harry.

"Well, we can't waste this opportunity." Scolded Hermione, "Don't get upset when he whacks you …"

"I never bloody do! And who says I'm getting whacked?"

"What's the chat about, Potter?" Demanded Millicent.

"Um … 'appalling disrespect' or something."

"You're getting whacked." She confirmed.

"You most probably deserve it," Said Hermione - a little too matter-of-factly for Harry, "but it's important you _don't get upset_. When you get upset, you miss things. You need to keep your wits about you and remember _everything_ that's said. You, Millicent and I will need to sift through every last detail of this meeting with Snape."

Sod off, thought Harry; no way am I giving details of a Snape chat. He knew it wasn't prurience on Hermione's part but he couldn't help feeling pissed off all the same. Perhaps he should drop her in it? Casually mention to Snape all the shenanigans that had been going on these last few days, and see how she handled the prospect of a date with the slipper. Harry let out a groan … the effing slipper. Snape's furiously pinched face now scooted across his vision; his outburst last night had definitely been something Snape would deem slipper-worthy.

"I've got to go."

**oOo**

**Slytherin corridor outside Snape's study, 11:50 am**

It was an odd feeling, lead-limbed exhaustion peppered with a racing heart. Get a grip, Harry urged himself; you've copped it before from Snape. Not pleasant, but not terrible either. Of course part of him wanted to leg it. But there was also a part of him that wanted to barge in, take what he had coming and get it over with. Harry Potter was _tired_. Not just tired from lack of sleep, he was wilting under the weight of not-knowingness. He tried to remember all the last-minute instructions Hermione had garbled at him before he left the belfry, but couldn't recall a single one. Sod it. How much speaking was he going to do arse up over The Git's sofa anyway? He pushed himself off the wall, ignored Licorus Black's mean sniggers, gave two knocks - not too timid, not too loud - on the study door, and waited.


	3. Two Tired People

**Happy New Year!**

**A/N 1:** Thank you to Fan, Hamlet, Federica, Blaise and guests.

**A/N 2:** I've probably taken liberties with Harry's scar - but bear with.

**Chapter 3: Two Tired People**

**Slytherin common room, 10:35 am**

"_MALCOLM_! That's _gross_!" Yelled Tracey, wiping the wet lump from her neck.

Malcolm Baddock expertly dropped the springy ruler down his shirt sleeve and out of sight.

"What?! What've I done, eh?! Nothing!"

"_Baddock_! Give me your wand this instant!"

Snape's entrance into the common room caused Malcolm's impudent grin to first freeze, then drop away entirely.

"_Now_!" Thundered Snape.

He grabbed the first-year, taking both wand and ruler.

"Please sir! Oh, _please_ don't do it! I promise I'll never flick another spit ball ever again. _Ever_!"

If possible, Snape looked even more annoyed.

"Who's been telling the first-years I'll break their wands if they misbehave?"

His eyes roamed the common room, narrowed briefly at Pansy Parkinson, moved to Bletchley but finally rested on Philip Aitcheson.

"He misunderstood, sir!"

"Did he now?" Said an unconvinced Snape, "I think that's the equivalent of a note, don't you?"

"I've already got two!" Squawked Philip.

"Then I look forward to our meeting."

Snape smiled a thin smile that wasn't really a smile, and Philip jabbered in an attempt to overturn the unprecedented Snape note-giving.

"But sir?! _Sir_! You _never_ give notes. You _don't_! Only the prefects give notes!"

"Complaint, Aitcheson? Pop it in the complaints box." Replied Snape, pointing Malcolm's ruler at the rubbish bin.

He then used the ruler to give three springy slaps to Malcolm's hand, finishing up with a quick shake.

"You foolish child! I want to borrow your wand, not break it. And _never_ flick spit balls again."

With that, he stormed back to his study.

**oOo**

It might have appeared Snape was in a bad mood. Not so. As a matter of fact, he was giddy with excitement. Granted what led to the wand-borrowing had been unpleasant, but one thing leads to another and as Snape walked through his office and entered his study, he was beaming. Beaming, that is, minus the actual upturned lips, and the crinkly, twinkly eyes.

As arranged, Pomona had sent word the second Potter left the hospital. Thus, when the boy wasn't looking forlorn outside his study door five minutes later, Severus knew he'd taken himself off elsewhere. The little toad … No doubt he'd appear when he was good and ready and not a second before - _and_ with a ready made excuse that was neither provable, nor disprovable. Snape had been so annoyed he'd gone to the cabinet behind his desk, taken out the cane, and given it several severe swishes just to make himself feel better. Then he'd had a better idea.

The map Moody had returned to Potter last night! He'd known last year it was a Marauder specimen. Back then, Lupin had leapt to the boy's rescue before he could confiscate it, but Moody had been a lot less helpful to Potter - all the better for Snape. He'd raced into his quarters to retrieve the map. There was a spell to open it, he knew. What he didn't know was how long it would take to discover it. Better get started. But no sooner had his wand tapped the map than a dark-inked insult revealed itself letter by letter on the closed parchment,

_**Messrs. Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs wish to convey **_

_**the following message to Snivelling Snape of Slytherin **_

_**(if he can keep his greasy hair out of his eyes long enough to read it): **_

_**Keep your long, droopy nose out of our affairs, or we **_

_**solemnly swear we'll spell your conk to a foot long!**_

Even after all those years it stung. Arrogant, vicious bastards … they'd probably have done it, too. His pale skin flushed, and he threw down his wand. Clearly it was of no use, but that could soon be remedied. As he marched out to borrow another from the common room, he couldn't help but replay the insult in his mind. At first it made him angrier, but somewhere betwixt bedroom and office the penny dropped. Those hoity toity posh boys had inadvertently helped him. That was why the insult hurt so much; it was so redolent of how they'd spoken to him during his school days. And a person with Snape's propensity for brooding ran their callous words through his head time and again. He knew how they spoke, and an idea had now entered his head of what the incantation could be.

**oOo**

He sat, dining table cleared of journals. A wave of Baddock's wand failed to arouse the suspicion of the map.

"We solemnly declare …"

A corner of parchment crinkled and quickly lay flat. Wait a moment, thought Severus; the 'Marauders' might have used the map individually.

"_I_ solemnly declare …"

The corner of parchment now waved at him.

Declare? Avow? State? The same tiny wave from the corner. Swear. The top flap unfurled itself.

"I solemnly swear I am about to make mischief."

The side flaps gave a wriggle but remained stubbornly unfurled. He knew the sentiment was correct, and cast around in his mind for synonymous phrases. Five minutes later, he paused for a cup of tea, only to come hurtling in from the kitchen before the water had boiled,

"I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good!"

The parchment opened up like one of the paper fortune-tellers the first-year girls were so keen on making.

"Severus Snape."

He said, bringing down Baddock's wand to glance off the parchment. Nothing happened. Then he stepped from side to side, and tiny footprints appeared on the map, correctly located in his rooms. He tried others. Minerva was with Grubbly-Plank; Trelawney was in her tower, and Flitwick was in his rooms, still being studiously avoided lest he prevail upon someone to read his dreadful manuscript.

"Potter."

Where was that? The disused belfry … well, well. Why on earth was he there? A talk too private to be had in the dungeons? And with whom? Severus pictured the common room he'd just left; who'd been missing? Ah yes, _she_ was missing. Had she been there, the redoubtable Miss Bulstrode would have made short work of Baddock's mischief.

"Bulstrode."

Bulstrode's footprints flickered into life. It was a powerful piece of sorcery; he had to hand that to the Marauders. But something stopped him from questioning the map further. Despise the Marauders as he did, their intent had been mischief - sneaking off to _The Three Broomsticks_ to flirt with Rosmerta, or evading Filch. Wrong undoubtedly, and if Potter copied them, Snape would dole out a memorable punishment, but what he was doing was much, much worse. A desire for total dominion was the preserve of tyrants, something The Dark Lord would do. Snape put the map in his back pocket. He wouldn't go down that road, and neither did he need to. He knew who'd joined Potter and Bulstrode up in the belfry. He didn't need magic for that.

The wait for Potter's appearance was unwelcome. His meeting with Lucius Malfoy was itching to be properly digested, but that would need to wait until he'd slept. That frustrated him. The delight he'd gained in tricking the map receded and he was left exhausted and angry. All admiration for The Marauders' skill was gone; only the memory of their bullying remained. It was too beguiling to link Potter's insolence to the vileness of his father; Snape felt his anger surge. Only one thing for it at times such as these: retreat to what he could control. Potions. In any case, summer term and exams were looming, along with frazzled nitwits who insisted on cramming a year's study into two weeks. Poppy would soon be demanding a batch of The Draught of Peace.

The attention necessary for the crushing, slicing and paring cleared his mind of encumbrances. And when the potion was underway and matters became mechanical enough to permit new thoughts, well, he was sufficiently soothed by that point to think on them. Antipathy between himself and Alastor Moody was a given, but something about last night particularly alarmed him, though he couldn't think why. Had … oh, maybe not … wait … had Potter also seemed wary of the auror? He'd certainly looked relieved when Moody had left _and_ when Potter had taken back his father's map. The map! What was a respected auror doing playing around with a schoolboy contraband map? It didn't sit well with Snape - and neither did the fact Potter had leant it him. What was the idiot boy playing at? After all the close calls he'd had in his Hogwarts career and he goes loaning something like that out to a person he barely knows?!

Hesitant raps at the door. Severus refused to answer - out of spite. He knew it was Potter. Well, now the boy could wait until he was ready. He stirred the potion and gloated each time he ignored the knocking.

**oOo**

**12:05 pm**

Harry knocked again. The door finally swung open to reveal an empty study and The Git standing in the office beyond, his tall sinewy frame hunched over a large cauldron. He must know I'm here; he spelled the door open, thought Harry. Minutes passed and still Snape didn't speak, didn't even raise his head. Say something, or stay quiet? It was a tricky choice; Snape hated being interrupted at the best of times. But the minutes grew, and eventually Harry spoke.

"I'm here."

"I'm aware."

The hypnotic stirring continued. Harry's tired eyes were drawn to it and his exhausted body began to sway in time to the long stirrer, as if spinning an invisible hula hoop. He caught himself gyrating and felt ridiculous, then angry. _Twat_! He was awful last night and blamed me for everything. I couldn't sleep because of him and now I'm so knackered I'm almost dead. Why am I here if he won't sodding speak?

"You wanted to see me."

An ounce of belligerence had seeped into his voice, though if Snape noticed it, he said nothing. The stirring continued for a minute longer until Snape pulled out the long stirrer, wiped it clean and turned to Harry.

"_Wanted_ to see you? Somewhat of an overstatement, Potter. That way."

The stirrer pointed Harry back to the study. It was bloody long - three feet easily. A horrible thought entered Harry's head and grew as he was prodded towards the sofa. However, Snape merely told him to sit and dropped the stirrer on the coffee table.

"And here we are at last … the most fêted and pampered boy in Hogwarts finally has an opening in his busy schedule for his lowly housemaster…"

Such a beautiful voice! Such arch words!

He pulled The Marauder's Map from his back pocket.

"Tell me Potter, is there no end to the illicit magical artifacts you've been given?"

"They were my dad's!"

Snape twitched, then jerked his head, flicking his long hair from his face.

"I _know_ who they belonged to."

It was a terse reply delivered with quiet fury. Harry should have panicked. Three feet of pliable willow with a flat, perforated stirring head some eight inches by four was lying before him. His tired brain dimly recalled Philip Aitcheson regaling the common room with the tale of his encounter with it. Bletchley had coined a new term, 'to be stirred', and as one the house had shuddered at the new addition to Snape's arsenal. Though in truth, everyone had thought Philip was exaggerating. They'd blithely assumed he'd 'been stirred' with the same stirrer they used in class; not the monster Snape used for the hundred pint cauldron in the corner of his office. Yet Harry didn't panic. Maybe the sofa had some benign charm placed upon it? Or more likely, it was simply its comfort enveloping Harry's weary body. It cocooned and cossetted him 'til fear and anger ebbed away. He looked on dully as Snape continued.

"A map that allows you to sneak in and out of the castle. An invisibility cloak. What else do you have? Perhaps a charmed quill that completes your homework, so you can devote more time to breaking rules?"

That didn't work, thought Harry. Snape was such a bloody tyrant he made them all do their homework in the common room while he checked on them. Mercifully, he hadn't the energy to point that out.

"Or maybe some enchanted shoes that lead you in precisely the direction you have _No_. _Business_. _Being_?"

That one works and he has a point, but sod it; I don't care anymore. Harry would've liked to make a few observations to The Git. Number One: he hadn't asked to be dragged up to the hospital with Malfoy. Number Two: he'd been stuck up there for bloody hours. Number Three: he still didn't know why. And Number Four: he knew he'd been rude, but he'd been exhausted and Snape was just plain mean. He said none of that mainly because Snape was a scary sod, but also because he was so very, very, _very_ tired. He slipped slightly to the right, and found an even more comfortable position. His left hand reached for a cushion, and hazy, lazy thoughts entered his head. Maybe he should always turn up sleep deprived to a bollocking from Snape, being knackered took the edge off everything. He felt sure his knackered nerve receptors would refuse to transmit pain even if Snape used that bleeding stirrer. Glassy eyes watched as a black whirling dervish spun around the room, becoming angrier as he became calmer.

" … magical items whose properties could be used for purposes both mischievous _and_ nefarious … items you claim deep attachment to … and what do you do with them, you cretinous boy?"

The scolding grew to a hissed crescendo,

"You loan them out to people you _barely know_!"

Snape wiped a fleck of spittle from his cheek and turned to pierce Potter with a glare. He stumbled back,

"How _dare_ you? You obnoxious little wretch!"

Harry Potter was fast asleep on the sofa, mouth open and hugging a cushion to his chest.

**oOo**

Kick him, or hex him awake? _Or_ let sleeping Potters lie? While not as satisfying, he chose the last option. A long thin finger jabbed Harry down to lying. Next, he pulled off Harry's glasses and shoes, placing his feet up on the sofa. Keep the swine sleeping longer; that was his plan. It would allow Severus time to dream up a punishment he would never forget.

No housemaster could overlook being spoken to in that manner. And he'd no doubt Potter had regaled the Snakes with his cheek. A pre-supper thrashing in front of the house it was then. Let Potter be an object lesson to them all; his Slytherins needed to be regularly jolted back into line. Snape nestled down in his favourite armchair, his eyes switching between the map on the table to the boy on the sofa. Harry Potter, son of bullying James Potter … He wished he could grow into a fury, declare that Potter was a chip off the arrogant, old block and turf him out, but that was impossible. Firstly, he'd run out of energy for fury, and secondly, it wasn't true.

Potter was reckless and arrogant, but unlike his father, it wasn't an arrogance borne of privilege. Potter's arrogance sprang from an excess of grim determination; a refusal to ask for help because help had seldom been offered him. He recalled secretly observing his first hour in the Slytherin common room. The boy had been meek and appreciative of the Snakes who'd spoken to him. He'd kept quiet when Parkinson and Greengrass had launched their attack. No. He was far removed from James Potter. And Lily, too. True, he had her eyes - and if he heard that tired old line one more time from Minerva, Snape was spelling them grey - but he had so much more. For all Draco Malfoy's poor behaviour - and it had been abysmal - Potter had stood by him. Severus knew it would take a lot more than uttering 'mudblood' in a moment of anguish to turn Potter from someone's side.

And if he were honest, Potter's steadfastness of last night impressed him. He pondered the manner in which the boy had addressed him. Snape had deserved it. From Potter's viewpoint he had abandoned Malfoy; he couldn't in all conscience punish him for that. But what he could punish him for was giving into the temptation to utter those words. When The Dark Lord returned - and return he would, Severus was sure of it - life would grow a lot grimmer than a professor appearing unkind. The plans for the sound public thrashing were moved from the mental 'definitely warranted' basket to the 'possibly deserves it' basket.

His thoughts turned from Potter to the others in his house. Theodore Nott was safe now. What a dreadful prospect for so many of his Snakes when their best hope lay in being orphaned. Not all of them thankfully; there were many fine families in Slytherin House. Still, those that didn't have that fortune would need rescuing. Oh, the plan! Getting the saddest souls in Slytherin away from their Death Eater parents. Audacious and daring - but even with Minerva at his side, would he be able to pull it off? Not if he didn't get some much needed kip, he wouldn't.

He'd report back to Minerva that evening. But for now he put his feet up on the coffee table, slumped his head upon a cushion and comforted himself with the happy thought that had James Potter lived, he would no doubt have ensured his son was every bit as obnoxious as he had been - and all whilst feckless Lily stood by and watched. Sweet slumbers indeed.

**oOo**

**The hospital wing, 2:20 pm**

"What're _you_ doing here?"

"Alright. I'll go."

"I didn't say that! I just asked what you're doing here."

Millicent walked to the bed without answering Malfoy.

"Hmm … thought so. There's nothing wrong with you."

"I know." Replied Malfoy tartly.

"So why are you here? Snape never lets us lounge in bed when we're feeling okay, and Madam Pomfrey wants people out as soon as possible. Did he tell you to tell everyone you had an upset stomach?"

"How do you know?"

"That's what he told us at morning inspection; he'd have to keep the story the same."

She turned to leave.

"Come back!"

"What's the magic word?"

Evidently Malfoy was unused to the muggle expression.

"Which one?"

"Oh you bloody Pure Bloods! _Please_. The magic word's _please_.'

"Sod off, Millicent! I'm not saying please to you. You're the reason I'm in a hospital bed."

"Am I?"

"_Yes_! You and your payback because I didn't put my name down to search Snape's study. You think I didn't know what you were up to?"

"Yeah, you're right … sort of. Budge up." Millicent got into bed with Malfoy and turned to him conspiratorially, "Listen, wanna know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think I was played. I was used to set you up. _Hey_?!"

"_What_?!"

"Why the frigging hell aren't you terrified? You met a Death Eater!"

Malfoy gave a nonchalant shrug.

"I can take it."

Millicent rolled her eyes.

"Yeah well, get this." She said, "I think the Death Eater was a phoney!"

"Get this, Millicent. I think so, too."

They didn't know who the phoney was, or why they appeared, though Malfoy had suspicions he wasn't ready to share. Millicent pulled out a muggle note pad and biro and told Malfoy to jot down all his memories before they grew cloudy.

"I don't know why we use quills and parchment. This stuff's way better _and_ it's easy to hide under your blanket if Snape comes to visit."

No sooner had Malfoy checked out the biro than they heard Pomfrey's steps. Millicent bolted off the bed and hid behind the long curtains.

"I need to go out for a few minutes, Mr Malfoy. Everything alright?"

"Fine, Madam Pomfrey."

"You will be good, won't you?"

"If I have to."

"You do."

Pomfrey left and Millicent got back into Malfoy's bed. She wanted to know when he was getting out, but he had no idea. Malfoy wanted to know what he'd missed.

"Brainbox is trying so hard to work out what's happening her brain's going to melt. _Oh_! Weasley got the note back! We're saved!"

"I know."

"AB's auditioning to be the new Snape; he gave Pucey a note for not giving me a note, then gave me two notes himself. Wanker."

Malfoy laughed.

"What for?"

"For trying to get out and see you."

"Imagine that! You love me after all!"

"I don't trust you more like! The others are raving on about how great Alicia's party was. What else? Vince and Greg took the leftover cake to Filch …"

"Bollocks they did; they'll have scoffed it themselves!"

"They did. Came back with crumbs and icing all down their fronts."

"Snape didn't spot it?"

"He wasn't around, must be in his rooms. Oh, that's right! Potter had to go and see him about 'appalling disrespect'!"

Draco snorted.

"I know that, too."

"He's been gone for hours." She added with a snort of her own.

Malfoy laughed out loud.

"_Ha_! He'll be in the dorm, lying face down trying to think of anything to drown out his throbbing arse!"

"Do we _ever_ feel sympathetic? Us Snakes, I mean."

"What good would that do?"

"Fair point."

And they sniggered some more.

"Mills? You do realise that we're up to our necks in a caper with Potter, Granger and Weasley, don't you?" Asked Malfoy, "We shouldn't be here in Pomfrey's ward; we should be in the nutters' ward at St. Mungo's!"

"I know. Great, isn't it?!"

**oOo**

**Snape's quarters, 2:30 pm**

Malfoy was wrong about Potter's whereabouts. At that precise moment, Harry rolled in his sleep, draping his arm around the wooden bed post. Snape looked on horrified.

"Get your arm _off_ my leg. NOW!"

Harry was jolted awake with such force he rebounded off the back of the sofa and shot down onto the carpet. His glasses were shoved in his hand and he realised with all-consuming shame he'd just been snuggling a Snape calf. But how?

"What … how? Erm … Oh God! I'm sorry, sir."

"_You_ were instructed to come here immediately after you'd seen Malfoy. _You_ disobeyed. Am I fond of being disobeyed, Mister Potter?"

"I don't think it's one of your top three pastimes, sir."

"Precisely. And watch your cheek; we had enough of that last night."

Oh, bugger … now he remembered … him going apeshit at Snape last night. Harry thought he'd been right to say what he had. He could have said it a little less vehemently, but he was right nonetheless. Being sat in a heap at Snape's feet, however, didn't predispose a person to fight their corner.

"Am I getting whacked now?" He asked gloomily.

His ear was grasped and he was pulled to standing.

"Possibly."

_Possibly_? What kind of answer was that? A brilliant one! The Git never dilly dallied over a whacking. 'Possibly' meant 'no'. Snape just couldn't bring himself to say it and risk sounding decent and kind. Blimey! He'd sworn at Snape and got away with it! Hang on! Was this really Snape, or had Voldemort appeared in the sewn together skins of missing potions professors? Was the whacking cancelled only because Harry was about to be slowly crucio'd to death?

"Stop looking at me like that." Snapped Snape, "You're even more annoying when you're perplexed than when you're shooting your foolish mouth off. You've possibly avoided a thrashing because, though egregiously rude, you were being loyal to Malfoy. You were also wrong about my abandoning him."

"But you did, sir. I mean … erm … I'm not trying to be rude, but you did leave him."

"He wasn't alone at any point; he was with you and Madam Pomfrey. You saw his parents?"

"Yes."

Harry gave Snape a 'so what?' shrug.

"Everything I do is by design, Potter. Now lunch."

**oOo**

'**Harry's alcove', 3:00 pm**

Millicent spotted the tapestry of Vindictus Viridian and thought he looked even more foul tempered than Snape.

"Thanks for not being headmaster anymore." She muttered as she swept him aside and entered the second floor alcove.

"_Well_?!" Hermione shrieked.

"He doesn't know when he's getting out; Madam Pomfrey's saying nothing and Snape hasn't been up to see him today."

"Did you give him the notebook?"

"Yup."

"And the biro? You didn't forget the biro?!"

"Nope."

"And he's going to write down _all_ his memories?"

"Yes."

"Because you know that's _really_ crucial, don't you Millicent?"

"I know."

"People think they'll remember stuff but they don't. Details start falling away after eighteen hours, sooner if they've had a shock. Do you know that?"

Brainbox was being just a little too manic for Millicent's tastes. As the alpha female of Slytherin, she didn't take kindly to being interrogated.

"Malfoy's sorted, Granger. Stop banging on, or I'll punch you again."

Hermione gasped.

"I'm joking! Sort of … but you should give your mouth a rest."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Anyway, it's Potter who's the wild card. He still hasn't left Snape's study, so I'm going back down to wait for him. You coming?"

"No, I've got to go and do something …"

"What?"

"Not sure yet … but Draco's in isolation and now Harry's not around. This is all getting away from us! Look, do whatever it takes to get Harry and meet back here at 5:00."

**oOo**

**Snape's quarters, 2:50 pm**

By the time Snape and Harry had snoozed, lunchtime was long gone. Snape was hungry and reluctantly decided he'd better feed the boy, too. He served up mushroom omelette and a green salad, criticized Harry on how he held his knife, told him he ate like a toddler and that his posture was appalling, scoffed when he didn't use his napkin, informed him he didn't chew his food enough, and finally, told him his chewing was too loud. After life with Aunt Petunia, Snape's sniping was amateur hour. Harry thanked him effusively following each observation, which annoyed Snape no end and made him search for fresh gripes. Harry thoroughly enjoyed curmudgeonly Snape; he was a hoot.

"I cooked; you're doing the dishes."

But he helped Harry clear the table.

"Which shelf does the salt and pepper go on?" Asked Harry.

"Shelf …" Said Snape, "How could I forget?! _Shelf_!"

Harry panicked as Snape darted back to the sitting room. The note! He's checking for the bloody note! But why would he? Maybe he did a weekly check of his notes? A bit weird, but then Snape was. Yeah, Ron said it'd been put back, but in _exactly_ the right spot? Highly unlikely. Then Harry remembered Ron saying something about the fireplace being booby-trapped. He wished he'd asked more about it, but he'd been so knackered in the morning, he hadn't bothered. What if the booby-trap somehow proved what had happened? Oh Christ! They were all in for it big time.

Relief, however, came swiftly. A clearly disgruntled Snape returned and snatched a tea towel. It was at this point things started to get a bit odd.

"Feeling … _a little blue_ … today, Potter?!"

"Erm … no."

"Hmm … I'm quite sure you were … _feeling blue_ … last night, and … _feeling blue_ … takes days to wear off."

Harry supposed it was good of Snape to check if he was sad, but he had a strange way of going about it. He paused and cocked his head at an odd angle every time he said 'feeling blue', reminding Harry of the Burmese Python that time with Dudley at the zoo.

"I wasn't feeling blue; I was just tired."

"I'm quite sure you were … _blue_, Potter …"

What was Snape going on about?

"And if you were … _blue_ … last night, then you're bound to be … _blue_ … now!"

"I'm happy!" Squeaked Harry, "I_ am_!"

"_Roll_. _Up_. _Your_. _Sleeves_!"

An innocent enough collection of words - if superfluous. Harry had washed enough dishes to know not to plunge his shirt cuffs into the water. But it was the way Snape said it, slow and sinister - like a man who gained unnatural delight from seeing the bared forearms of young boys. Weirdo, thought Harry. He unbuttoned his cuffs hoping Snape didn't lick his lips or anything freaky like that. He needn't have worried; Snape just gave a huff. Harry's forearms were clearly disappointing.

The lacklustre forearms went into the water and he began washing dishes, aware that Snape's eyes were now lingering on his earlobes. As quick as a flash, Snape pulled back the collar of Harry's shirt and peered down.

"_What_?!"

"Hmm …" Said Snape, his nose moving to an inch from Harry's, "Mark me, Potter. Someone is _feeling blue_ and I aim to _Find_. _Out._ _Who_!"

For a roving Samaritan determined to alleviate depression, Snape's manner was seriously off. The man really needed to work on his tone _and_ lose the obsessive eye contact. But _The Daily Prophet_ was never going to hold the front page for Harry's news that Snape was an oddball. Everyone knew that. And after a while, the silence lost its awkwardness and the two worked side by side, Harry washing and Snape drying.

"Am I supposed to wipe off the bits you've missed?"

The plate was shoved back at Harry, who scrubbed again at stains visible only to Snape. He could have taken umbrage at having his cleaning skills derided; he had, after all, had a large portion of his childhood forcibly devoted to learning the craft. Harry, however, was enjoying his time with Snape, _and_ he'd escaped a whacking. Obviously a boon, but somewhere amongst the mass of sparking synapses in his brain was lurking a barely formed notion. Better than getting off scot free was the realisation that Snape had considered him.

The Git was almost mechanical in the punishments he doled out. Put your shoes up on the common room sofas, and you were relegated to sitting on the floor for the night. You tapped on the tank and annoyed the guppies? You were cleaning out the fish tank at the end of the week. Three notes from a prefect gained you automatic admission to Snape's 'Slipper Club', no questions asked, no excuses borne. Harry had found himself in the ridiculous situation of actually appreciating that side of Snape. You knew where you were with the man. You knew he knew what was going on. It was a treat not to have to look out for useless adults. Yet this time, Snape had paused and given thought to how Harry must have been feeling, and that made him feel great.

He handed Snape a scrupulously scrubbed water glass, guaranteed to escape criticism. Snape gave a pained sigh.

"You're washing this glass _now_? Glassware should always be washed before cutlery and crockery. Really, Potter …"

Knowing there could be no reprisal cuff around the head - Snape had his hands full with tea towel and glass - Harry ventured a cheeky riposte.

"Start again, sir? Or do you think you can handle the heartache of poorly-timed washing up?!"

Snape moved to the side and 'accidentally' trod on his toe. Harry laughed. Who'd have thought washing dishes with The Git could be so enjoyable? The synapses of his brain sizzled again as they fought to make sense of the situation. Snap! Crackle! Pop! They came good. Snape had become the one adult whom he felt truly at ease talking to. There were times when it was wise to keep your mouth clamped tight shut, of course. And he didn't always _like_ talking to Snape; he'd never go that far. The man was nearly always in a bad mood; he was sarcastic and specialised in mocking those who'd annoyed him with vindictive delight. But for all that, Harry spoke freely with him. He loved McGonagall but he'd more or less given up on her listening to him. Maybe that would change with his 'punishment' Sunday afternoon teas? He hoped so. The same could be said for Dumbledore and, in any case, Harry was too in awe and too eager to impress his headmaster for his real feelings to come out. He did say whatever he liked to The Dursleys, but they weren't real conversations; that was just him punctuating the boredom of existence by goading them.

He loved Sirius, but sadness pervaded their conversations. Sirius' time in Azkaban weighed on Harry as if it were somehow his fault. Lupin was kind and admirable, but as with Sirius, Harry always chose his words carefully. It seemed to him that the night Voldemort had killed his parents had also, in a way, ended their lives. They were no longer the bright stars soaring across the night sky that they seemed in Hagrid's recounts of their youth. They were diminished, and Harry felt the burden of having to prop them up. He felt no such responsibility to prop up Snape. Snape was mean and gnarly and the type of person who'd spit out a boil hex if he so much as suspected a student was trying to reassure him. When Harry was with Snape, he opened his mouth and let the words come tumbling out.

"Y'know, sir? If my cousin helped me do the dishes, it'd be heaps better."

"You mean it would be fairer, or something else?"

"Given up on fair at The Dursleys." Said Harry, with no hint of self-pity, "I mean, you think it's a boring job … and it is … but you do it with someone and it's not actually that bad. Plus, you kind of end up not minding the person you're doing it with, no matter how rotten they are!"

"You, as ever, need to watch your cheek. But you make a sound point. It's called fellowship, Potter. Even the worst that life can throw at us can be borne with fellowship. Remember that. There may come a time in the future when it's near all we have."

Harry looked down and realised he was pulling the plug from the sink. The washing up was finished and Snape was handing him the tea towel to dry his hands. He did so, then dropped it as his right hand flew to his scar. Snape heard Harry's glasses clatter on the stone floor, and spun around from the doorway.

"What is it?" He demanded.

Harry couldn't speak. He gripped the kitchen bench, his eyes screwed tight. Snape must have left because he heard urgent steps coming back towards him. The next second, his hands were pulled from his head and a thumb gently traced the line of the scar. A bottle was sloshed and something cool dabbed onto his forehead. Ice cold and all the better for it; it smelled like lying in the long grass of Little Whingeing playground. He was guided back to the sitting room and manoeuvred into an armchair. His hand rose to rub at the scar, but was pushed down.

"Don't do that; you'll aggravate it."

His head was tilted back and something cold placed over his eyes and forehead. The needling pain lessened and Harry didn't have to screw up his eyes so tight. He became more aware of his surroundings. The light had been dimmed, and his feet were raised on something soft. He shuffled them, a cushion on the coffee table. The same meadow sweet smell of before bathed him and the _tick_ … _tick_ … _tick_ of the clock set a calm pace. Just the clock and the rhythmic expulsion of air through Snape's long nostrils … not too close … Harry gauged he was on the armchair opposite.

"Lean your right ear towards your right shoulder."

Before Harry could ask why, Snape told him stretching the muscles of his neck and back would help. It did, too. Keeping his eyes closed, Harry obeyed Snape's every demand: rolling his shoulders, pushing his forehead down to his knees, leaning left, leaning right and on it went. It was the best bloody headache he'd ever had. Hermione was right; he should've told Snape about them way earlier. He liked Snape's care: unfussy, practical, calm. He wasn't sure how long he sat there. An odd thing but a ticking clock defies you to count; you're lulled into timelessness.

"Any better?"

"Yeah … yeah it's gone now. This thing really helped. Thanks." Said Harry holding the cold compress.

"Dittany and dandelion root. I'm glad it was useful."

Snape reached over and handed Harry his glasses. Vision reinstated, Harry was pleased to note the man's expression was as grim as ever.

"It is. I feel like the headache never happened. It normally stays with me for a while."

They sat in companionable silence but something had to stop that. Unfortunately for Harry, it was the increased furrowing of Snape's brow, the tapping of his chin, and his menacing, tortured enunciation.

"It … normally … stays with me for a while … _normally_ …"

Harry would never be the star turn on a debate team. Though perfectly adequate, his mind simply didn't make rapid-fire connections. He was constantly dreaming up retorts to Malfoy's jibes seven weeks after The Prat had made them. But even Harry knew what was going on in Snape's head. He'd let slip that this headache wasn't a one-off, and was about to be bollocked for keeping them quiet.

"Just when did these headaches become normal?"

The sensible thing, or even the sane thing, was to lie. He'd lied to Voldemort in his first year. Didn't do him much good; Voldemort still knew where Flamel's stone was. But he had lied. Snape was different. He opened his mouth and words fell out. They weren't normal headaches; it was his scar, he was sure of it. He was getting more and more of them, and if it was his scar, then …

"Give me the timeline, Potter." Ordered Snape through clenched teeth.

"I got the first one on my first night here."

"Your first night in Slytherin?! That was six months ago! How on earth has it taken this long to tell me?!"

"Umm."

It was a defining moment for Harry, causing him to question everything and finally throw in his lot entirely with Snape and the Snake House. But those deep contemplations would only come at the end of the school year. Back then, the defining moment was much more commonplace, and not a little humiliating.

The 'umm' had told Snape all he needed to know. In one bound, he was out of his armchair and in front of Harry, his left foot planted firmly on the coffee table. Next thing, Harry'd been hoiked over Snape's leg and lay dangling, 'Aitcheson's Nemesis', the fearsome potions stirrer, but inches away. Then Harry saw nothing. Firstly because his glasses fell off, and secondly because his eyes screwed tight at the almighty cracks that were landing on his backside.

Sound and fury blared throughout the small sitting room, Snape's arm working like an out-of-control windmill. But some eight or nine cracks in, Harry managed to open an eye and saw the blurred stirrer untouched on the table. It took a moment to register that he wasn't in all-encompassing agony, just had a very heated backside. The heat was augmented by a dozen more whacks before Snape pulled him to standing.

Two people stood staring at each other, one furious and the other indignant.

"That's not how it works! People don't do that!"

"What are you blathering about?" Snarled Snape.

"You said I wasn't getting whacked!"

"I said you _possibly_ weren't. Evidently I decided you were."

"No! _Possibly_ means not happening! No one does it like that. People yell and get all angry and say they're going to punish you, and then … then they back down and do nothing, just tell you you're really gonna cop it if you do it again. You got it back to front! You can't start off being all reasonable then go mental!"

"That wasn't for last night's insolence; it was for not disclosing your headaches."

"I did tell you about the headaches." Sulked Harry, "You didn't have to do that; there's nothing more to tell you."

"Until the next time."

"What?" Asked Harry.

"Something else in your catastrophe-strewn life is bound to rear its head, Potter. You will learn the wisdom of confiding in an adult, and not tottering on alone in your misplaced stoicism. And for the record, you didn't tell me; you slipped up. There's a world of difference. There's also far more about your headaches that I need to know."

Just as it seemed Snape was calming down, he reeled around to grab Harry's arms and shake him.

"Your first Sorting Feast?! That's when your scar began to hurt? The unmitigated arrogance! The Dark Lord … terrifying to all but Harry Potter …"

"_I'm_ terrified!"

"_Are_ you? When you came into contact with him your scar burned. By your own admission, it's been giving you blinding headaches throughout the year, and you did what exactly?" Snape paused, but only to answer his own question, "The Golden Boy continued with his deluded martyrdom. Let me tell you again, Potter; circumstances conspired to make you who you are. You have no intrinsic greatness; you are as frail as the rest of us."

He'd heard it before from Snape, but it still hurt. Not the words, it was the venom Snape used.

"Be glad of that. Frailty is a gift. It makes us human and if we can learn to accept it in others, is what stops us becoming monsters …"

The delivery was less toxic, and Snape even gave a momentary clasp to Harry's shoulder.

"Nevertheless, you have one frailty I cannot tolerate. You suspected the cause of your headaches and you said nothing. Is The Dark Lord only a threat to you? Is your arrogance so complete?"

Snape looked at Harry expecting outraged denial, but he didn't get it. Harry's eyes welled with tears and he ducked his head to his chest. Snape gave his shoulder a gentle shake.

"What is it, Potter?"

Harry tried to say something, but it came out as incoherent, snotty babble.

"Idiot." Said Snape.

Not a sneer. There was some exasperation, but mostly the single word held tenderness. Snape moved his hand to cup the back of Harry's neck.

"For goodness' sake! You're _upset_! Stop being such a bloody martyr and start snivelling like any sane person would!"

"I feel like a dickhead!" Harry got in between sobs.

"I fail to see why. You're hardly the first child I've brought to tears with a hiding. In any case, these tears are from the emotion of the day, not the hiding."

"It wasn't even a hiding! You put me over your sodding knee like you do with the first-years! You didn't even use that thing!"

Harry covered his red eyes with one hand and used the other to indicate the stirrer.

"Good God, Potter! What kind of monster do you think me? That stirrer would take the skin off you! And is this all you really have to say to me?"

"No."

"Then say more."

Harry took a few deep gulps to banish his sobbing.

"You're right. I should've told someone about the headaches 'cos it affects loads of people, not just me."

"Better, but far from perfect. You should have told someone about the headaches because you could have been helped sooner. You've been dealt a bad hand, but there's no need to embrace misery so entirely. You're just as important as everyone else. And for the record, I didn't put you over my knee; I put you over one knee - far more dignified and befitting your elevated status and maturity …"

He was being sarcastic, but that was okay; he was also being kind.

"You should take a leaf out of Mister Aitcheson's book; be grateful for small mercies and then concoct a tale of immense cruelty. There's enough suffering in the world without seeking out more. Now, are you fit to listen?"

Harry nodded.

"Then sit down."

Snape took the opposite armchair, and thought for a moment before speaking.

"He's coming back. I know it and you know it. The trouble is, we don't know when. So here is our plan …"

Harry leant forward eagerly.

"You come to me with anything unexpected …"

"Like my scar hurting?"

"Or anything else unexpected."

"Like what?" Asked Harry.

"I don't know, Potter. If I did, it wouldn't be unexpected, would it?"

"S'pose. What else, sir?"

"You do as I tell you."

"And?"

"And that's it. We live our lives, and I and the other professors deal with matters as they arise."

Harry threw himself back in the armchair, growling at the shittiness of Snape's plan.

"Some plan! That's what always happens! Shut up and let the grown-ups get on with it!"

"Given your track record, Mister Potter, I find that a bit rich."

"Yeah well, I had to do stuff; no one else was doing anything!"

Snape raced over to perch on the coffee table in front of Harry.

"Do you understand what happened to Malfoy last night?"

"Not really. I wish I did."

"No idea?"

Snape's eyes searched Harry's face.

"He was attacked, but I don't know why … I …"

"Yes?"

"I keep thinking about his dad."

Snape gave him a funny look. Not a sneery one, one that seemed puzzled and pleased at the same time.

"Do you think I ignored Malfoy?"

"I did last night …"

"You were tired and upset. I was cruel to you. What do you think now?"

"I don't think that's something you'd do."

"Just so, Potter. Do you think me a good head of house?"

An unexpected question.

"You may answer freely."

"Well … yeah. Yeah, I do. You're strict, mega-strict actually, but you're fair. Y'know, sort of. Not all the time. Well, not fair a lot of the time really. But I'm not saying you're always unfair, or anything!"

Snape raised a brow and Harry wondered if he was bumbling into a trap, but then he spotted an upwards twitch of the man's lips.

"Not _always_ unfair, eh? Do carry on while I sit here polishing my halo."

"But I'll tell you what you do do. You get everyone to join in. And you always do what you say you're gonna do. And you know what people are doing, and I like that."

"Why?"

"Dunno. Gets us all in trouble a lot of the time, but I still like it. I suppose you knowing about stuff means we don't have to."

"Hmm."

It was all Snape said, but it wasn't his usual dismissive '_hmm_'.

"What are your thoughts on the tournament?"

Harry was flummoxed; another question he hadn't expected.

"It … I dunno … it's terrifying. What do you think about it, sir?"

Snape breathed in deeply and gave a long sigh.

"I'm suspicious of this tournament above all else - with the possible exception of Morris dancing. It bothers me … the timing bothers me …"

Snape stared at an indistinct spot on the carpet, and Harry assumed he'd finished saying whatever he wanted to say. The weird thing was that sitting so close to his silent housemaster didn't feel weird at all. Snape looked up from the carpet and tapped Harry on the knee.

"You told me I know what people are doing. Not always true. I wish it were. So there we have it. I've given imperfect answers to impossible questions; make of them what you will. But I repeat again that if anything unusual occurs, you report back to me."

"Yes, sir."

"However … even with the threat of death and almost certain maiming that shrouds you, I do wish you and your housemates an enjoyable term …"

Harry laughed, but Snape actually seemed serious.

"Never forget fellowship, Potter; no one gets left behind. _No one_. Darkness always comes back to childhood and loneliness; lonely children do desperate things. There'll come a time when I'll expect far more of all of you than anyone has a right to expect from children. But until then it will please me greatly for you all to keep being the dunderheaded fools you are supposed to be."

"I'm really going to try my best with that one, sir." Smiled Harry.

"Get out, Potter. All this niceness is making me bilious. Oh, and bed at nine o'clock."

"I was expecting that."

"For a week."

"Fine … sir." Grumbled Harry.


	4. A Slytherin History Lesson 1

**A/N: **As ever, thanks to guests and Hamlet!

**Chapter 4: A Slytherin History Lesson #1**

**Slytherin dungeon corridor, 4:57pm**

"You took your time!"

Millicent was waiting next to Licorus Black, who, fortunately for all concerned, happened to be snoozing.

"I didn't have a choice. I wasn't exactly calling the shots in there!"

"Fair point."

Harry turned right for the common room, but was pulled straight ahead to the spiral staircase.

"Meeting with the Brainbox - and we're gonna be late." Explained Millicent.

He gave a quiet groan; why did Hermione's meetings always coincide with when he wanted to flop and do nothing?

"Friggedy dooh-dah! Over three hours, Potter! What went on?" Millicent asked as they took the spiral stairs two at a time.

"You'll never guess. He made me lunch, and it was good!"

"Ah …"

The light of recognition appeared in Millicent's face.

"Nice when he does that, isn't it?" She said.

"Does he do it often?"

Harry was puzzled. It didn't seem particularly Snape-like.

"_Often_?! Fuck no! But sometimes first-years are homesick, and other first-years are real odd bods who don't know how to fit in with a group. I mean, most of this lot never went to primary school; they had tutors and governesses …"

They reached the entrance hall and were spotted by Gregory Goyle.

"Where've you been, Potter? Fancy a game of cribbage?"

Nope, thought Harry. Cribbage was Goyle's latest thing. Sophie had introduced him to it as a way of improving his mental arithmetic. But Sophie was clearly a rotten tutor, or Greg a hopeless case. Harry'd only played one game with him, and it'd been sheer torture - Greg still not up to counting to thirty-one.

"Maybe later eh, Greg?"

"You're on!"

Bollocks …

"And of course you've got the first-years who're hounded by their hideous parents …"

Millicent was continuing with her list of people Snape occasionally indulged. Harry said he doubted she'd ever been one of them, but found out he was wrong. In her first year she'd had a mad crush on Jemima Deacon only to have Pansy find out and taunt her mercilessly; then go on to warn the rest of the first-year girls they weren't safe with predatory Bulstrode in their dorm. Millicent had wanted to leave Hogwarts, or curl up and die of shame. Or both. Snape put a hairbrush to good use on Pansy, and Millicent had a long chat over fish pie and several pots of tea. Harry was sensing a pattern: homesick firsties, socially inept firsties, frightened firsties, bullied firsties … and him.

"Course, you only get it once." Continued Millicent, "Keep being pathetic and he just gives you a thick ear and tells you to get on with it."

Wrong, thought Harry. He'd had lunch with Snape _and_ breakfast back in February. But he decided it wasn't anything to boast about - just made him seem a bit of a sad case, really.

"Go on, then. How many?!" Smirked Millicent, as they reached the second floor. "And don't try to deny it. Your eyes are still red!"

Were his eyes red? Bloody hell! He'd only got a smacked arse like some first-year who'd pushed their luck. He felt like such a wimp. No, wait! It was lack of sleep. Sure, he'd kipped for a bit but he was still knackered. Then again, he wasn't going to mention falling asleep on Snape's sofa like a toddler put down for a nap. No, keep some dignity. He took The Git's advice and bigged it up.

"Dozen." He shrugged, "And a soap spell - while I was getting the dozen."

"Ouch _and_ yuck!"

**oOo**

**Second floor alcove, 5:06pm**

Two right turns, straight on for a bit, then sharp left and Millicent and Harry were under the daunting glare of Vindictus Viridian.

"You reckon he was Snape's great, great, great, great granddad?!"Asked Millicent.

Actually, Harry had never really examined the faded tapestry. He did so now and saw a thin, black-haired, sour-faced wizard stirring something in a huge cauldron with a monumental stirrer. The same one? Surely not?

"Could be; he's got the same dimples and cheery smile! Who was he?"

Millicent pointed to the embroidered inscription at the bottom of the tapestry: _Vindictus Viridian, potioneer and headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 1627 - 1702._ Harry bet headmaster Viridian had used that stirrer on his students.

"Where've you _been_?!"

Hermione poked her head out and yanked them into the alcove. The first thing they saw was Ron sitting on the arm of the sofa grinning like a nutter. Then they saw why. Neville Longbottom was sitting on the other sofa, shaking at Millicent's entrance.

"_Boo_!" Said Millicent to Neville.

He jumped and Trevor leapt out of his pocket and up onto her head.

"Don't hurt him!" Cried Neville.

"I'm not going to; it's you I'm after! Oh, frigging calm down, Longbottom! It was a joke! Why's he here anyway?" Millicent asked, pointing her thumb at Neville.

"We need to discuss things all together. Draco's still not out. I tried to get into the hospital wing this afternoon, but Madam Pomfrey's put an alarm on the door."

"Hermione! You didn't say it was Draco Malfoy you wanted to see! I can't get involved in this!"

"You won't be involved, Neville. You won't be going anywhere near the hospital. Remember?"

"I don't like this … What if Professor Snape finds out? He's Malfoy's head of house …"

"You know, Neville?" Began Ron, "You kind of are involved anyway. I mean, it was you who pushed me into the floo last night. I know you don't want the details but if you hadn't pushed me, Malfoy wouldn't be in the hospital wing."

"You did that, Neville?!" Asked Harry, "Brilliant! You're a star!"

"You are. Thank you, Longbottom. And my arse thanks you, too!" Said Millicent.

She poked her sizeable bottom in Neville's direction, waggled it and said 'thank you very muchly!' without moving her lips. It was easy to spot Millicent had younger siblings; she had that knack of calming people with a few daft words. For a second it looked like Neville wanted to ask what Millicent's bottom had to do with anything, then he seemed to recall the scary rumours of how Snape dealt with his Slytherins. His admiration for Harry's surviving in the Snake House grew to epic proportions.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Hermione?" He asked, "It's going to hurt and then be as itchy as anything."

"What are you going to do Brainbox?"

"Neville's going to take me to some wiggenbushes and push me into them."

"You what?!" Asked Ron. "You can't do that!"

"You can." Assured Neville, "There's a patch of them just behind the far greenhouse. I helped Professor Sprout prune them before the holidays; they're tricky blighters, though … keep trying to grab your feet as you walk past."

"Not really what I meant, Neville." Said Ron, rolling his eyes.

"Why are you letting Neville push you into the wiggenbushes?" Asked Harry.

"Why are _we_ letting Neville push us." Corrected Hermione, "And I'd have thought the answer was obvious. We need a legitimate reason to be in the hospital."

They stared at her as if she were mad.

"But he'll be out soon!" Argued Millicent.

"Yeah! How long can they keep him there with a supposed upset stomach?!"

"_Completely_ mental!" Cried Ron, "Let's just wait!"

"No. No. No. We _can't_ wait! If any of you had bothered to do any reading on the mind and memory attrition, you'd _know_ that. We _have_ to get together and discuss Harry's meeting with Snape and what happened to Draco in detail before they forget anything."

Oh, effing hell! Harry had forgotten all about Hermione wanting to go over his Snape chat in minute detail. And he knew he hadn't asked anywhere near the number of questions she'd have liked. A way to wriggle out of it sprang into his brain.

"We can't! We have to go to supper now. Snape goes spare if people are late, and I can't get in more trouble with him …"

"No, you can't." Added Hermione disapprovingly _and_, to Harry's mind, unnecessarily.

"And after supper, I have to go and explain my headaches to him."

"What?" asked Millicent.

"Oh, you told him! Well done!" Said Hermione, "_Right_! Think! Think! Think!" She told herself. "Millicent? Can you get another notepad and pen for Harry and explain to him why he needs to write down his memories?"

"I can and I will."

"Okay. Early breakfast tomorrow and meet up here at eight. Neville, you're going to come, aren't you? We need you; none of us knows as much about plants as you."

Neville nodded - not quite as wary as he was before.

"Great! Oh! Wear two sets of underpants everyone."

"You what?!" Asked Ron.

"For the itchiness … you know … in case it goes through trousers …" Hermione trailed off sounding acutely embarrassed.

"That's an eye-watering thought, 'Mione." Said Ron, "I'm wearing four."

As Harry and Millicent were the only pair with the crack-pot head of house who insisted they wash and dress properly for meals, they scooted off first. Harry didn't feel too bad about fibbing a little to his mate. Actually, he decided he was going to tell Snape as much as he could - should have done it sooner.

**oOo**

**The Headmaster's office, 9:45pm**

"You _knew_?"

"Not knew, Severus … suspected."

"When?"

Albus Dumbledore looked a little taken aback at the forthrightness employed by his potions professor. But only a little. He then wandered over to Fawkes and stroked his tail feathers.

"When I saw him as a baby … such an unusual, angry red scar … I wondered then if there'd be some connection to his parents' murderer."

"Which, no doubt, is why you informed us of your suspicions the day he started Hogwarts, so we could all keep a watch on the boy and stop him being in needless agony."

Snape's softly-purred sarcasm petered out as an awful thought occurred to him.

"We could have eliminated The Dark Lord three years ago!"

"I'm not so sure we could …"

But Dumbledore didn't explain himself further.

"Using children as mere weapons …" Murmured Snape, "Headmaster? You once told me that I disgusted you; might I return the insult?"

Dumbledore nodded once, and spoke.

"Severus, I have no intention of noting your insubordination officially. However, I will just ask you this; do you know of _any_ general who didn't have to employ cruelty?"

It was a truth Snape didn't wish to acknowledge. No. Child soldiers were an abhorrence. But what about his own use of Potter? Minerva had been right. However you cut it, he'd kept Potter in Slytherin to forge links with and rehabilitate his Snakes. Dumbledore took a seat near Fawkes and motioned for Snape to join him.

"Your talk with Mr Malfoy, how did it go?"

The pair talked of Lucius and Narcissa until Dumbledore rose.

"I'm afraid I must go now. Take your time leaving."

It was almost an invitation to raid the drinks cabinet, and Snape took him up on it. There amongst the cache of sarsaparilla, cream soda and raspberryade stood the triple distilled single Highland malt.

**oOo**

**Slytherin prefects' office, 10:20pm**

"But if it wasn't Potter, then who?"

Snape shrugged.

"Malfoy?" Hazarded AB.

"Not possible. I saw him in the hospital … not a hint of blue."

"Blue?"

"Ah yes, perhaps I didn't mention it. I booby-trapped the fireplace. Blue dye-seekers will have hit whoever came through the floo, one for the hands and one for the face. Of course, if someone tried to shield themselves, they might have had to settle for neck and arms … _what_?"

Armitage-Brown was sitting supremely po-faced.

"Sir?! Why would you do that? Your whole purpose in this endeavour was to get the fourth to pull together, specifically Malfoy and Potter. It worked; we even got Granger and Weasley to work with Malfoy."

"Are you about to give me lines, Mr Armitage-Brown? Or instruct me to bend over?"

AB blushed at having his self-righteousness mocked. It was a failing of his, and he knew it.

"In any case," Continued Snape, ""It was your role to aid and abet them; _I_ never had any intention of pandering to them. If they were to undertake this endeavour, then they needed to be as cunning as possible. If I catch them, they take the consequences. But if I find no proof, they win."

"I take your point, but it does seem unfair."

"Does it? Good. I want it to be unfair. I want them to get used to reprehensible adults abusing their power to thwart them. There'll be a lot more of that coming; I'm certain."

That took the spark out of the conversation. They both returned to sipping tea until AB had an idea.

"Weasley! It must have been Weasley."

"No." Replied Snape, "I saw him at breakfast. Good God! Have you ever watched him eat? He rolls up his sleeves and _attacks_ his food."

"No blue on him?" Asked AB.

Snape shook his head, tapped his finger on his cheek and pointed to AB.

"_You_. Felt like getting one over on your old housemaster, did you? Slipped the note back before Mayhew's party? Or maybe after?!"

AB felt the inexplicable thrill of the house square accused of dastardly deeds. Alas, the thought had never occurred to him. He pulled up his jumper and waggled his unblemished forearms at Snape in a disappointed manner. Snape huffed.

"This is starting to rattle me. I need to focus on something else. How and when did you hook Potter?"

"Almost straight away. While he snaffled the note from your shelf, we had the common room clean up. He came and joined us, and I heard the note crackle under his jumper. I sent the others off to lunch and that meant he had to try and shift the folio chest without Goyle's help. I knew he'd get hot and take off his jumper, and when he did, I was on hand to snatch it and be 'alarmed'."

"Clever move." Murmured Snape, "Though not quite as clever as mine …"

AB rather supposed it wouldn't be.

"I left Potter alone and managed to get him to prowl my shelves and pick out the one book that contained the notes. Now how do you suppose I did that?"

"Mentioned the title of the book earlier on in your chat?"

"No. Even simpler. I put the notes in the one book with a bright red dust jacket and placed that in a row of drab grey and brown books."

AB saluted him with his tea cup before asking a question of his own.

"Did you know I'd changed Alicia's birthday?"

"I did … right around the time Miss Parkinson took a tumble down the staircase. Correct?"

AB nodded. He wasn't surprised at not having fooled Snape, but it was a little disappointing all the same.

"Did you spot it straight away?"

Snape had to confess he hadn't. The penny had only dropped when he'd seen Mayhew perched high up on the steps of the owlery, like the tragic heroine of a Victorian melodrama. But even though her choice of location had been overblown, her performance had been remarkably restrained. The child had done well.

"She loved every minute of it!" Confirmed AB.

"She would." Snape said with a roll of his eyes. "Now, I'd like to know how Malfoy stuck with this plan to save Potter's hide without having his usual tantrum."

"We took the …"

Ah well, here was a conundrum for Peter Perfect; how to mention The Slytherin Oath without mentioning it? It was, after all, primarily a means of bamboozling their despotic housemaster. The obvious answer was not to mention it at all. But that prompted a whole new question; how to evade Snape when he'd asked a direct question?

"Sir? I think there've been some innovations since your time here as a student …"

"I should bloody well hope so; my time as a student was ghastly."

"Yes well, a system's been developed for ensuring everyone sticks together …"

"You mean The Slytherin Oath?" Smiled Snape smugly.

"Yes … but how?"

"Pour me another cup, and I'll give you a Slytherin history lesson."

AB added hot water to the teapot.

"Let me start with a bit of advice; if you want to lead people, never terrify them. I did once and if it weren't for Licorus Black and The Bloody Baron, I'd have brought this house to its knees …"

_The year was 1982. So fiercely had the winds of change swept through the dungeons, they more properly resembled a hurricane. It had begun the first day back with Pucey's older sister, Emmeline, then a first-year. She'd gifted Snape a rude comment in front of everyone - and it had been a gift. It had allowed Snape to show his students that he was no longer the weak-willed young professor who turned a blind eye and a deaf ear for want of knowing what to do. But as he'd called her off the steps to slipper her, he saw the dread in her eyes, relented and downgraded her punishment. Not that Emmy Pucey felt it a downgrade, or the others for that matter. As she was pulled from his lap, they all thought the same thing; if wimpy Snape could dole out a hiding like that to someone on their first day, what would he do to the rest of them?_

_They soon found out and naturally resented him for it, but he didn't care a jot. The brats failed to realise that the common resentment had brought unity to their ranks. And though brattish, they weren't stupid enough to go looking for a trip across their housemaster's sofa arm. Behaviour was slowly amended and things began to improve. Until one day late in May when Dominic Aspinall and Gertrude Howell sent Minerva an In Memorium card on the anniversary of Dougal McGregor's death. _

_It wasn't simply the card. It was the inscription, a less than sincere hope that McGonagall was happy with her booby prize of Elphinstone Urquhart, and that she didn't worry too much about whether she could have saved Dougal had she married him. Late that evening, Snape was called to Dumbledore's office to face a distraught Minerva and a furious headmaster. He understood why; the card was something Christopher and Hugh Delingpole would've been proud of. Vile and cruelly clever. In one fell swoop, Aspinall and Howell had undone the progress of a year. Worse, it had been aimed at McGonagall, the one person Snape knew he had to win over if ever Slytherin House were to be accepted. Dumbledore's fury began to pale in comparison to Snape's. Then Dumbledore said the words Snape had no wish to hear; he wanted him to expel the pair._

_They deserved it, but then what? They weren't the only nasty pair in the dungeons. Now the Death Eaters' reign was over, was Dumbledore ready to go against once-powerful parents and pick off his students one by one? Severus might be left with a house of compliant children, but that wasn't his aim. He wanted to save Slytherin House, not deplete its ranks. Minerva excused herself and Snape pleaded to be allowed to deal with the matter. Dumbledore finally assented._

"_Oh, and Severus?" He called as Snape reached the door, "Make sure they regret their actions thoroughly …"_

_Snape fully intended to. _

_The following morning at inspection, he informed his house that two students were to be punished that evening. As they weren't named, they all fretted throughout the day. After supper, he went in search of Argus Filch. Snape hovered in the doorway as the caretaker ransacked the storeroom. Eventually, hidden amongst some old trophies and mildewed table cloths, Filch found it. But seeing the murderous look on Snape's face made even Argus Filch wary of handing over Apollyon Pringle's cane._

"_A person won't need too much of this to make them sorry, Severus. It's thin but hard."_

"_I'm aware of that." Snapped Snape, "Your predecessor certainly put it to good use."_

_Even before he'd finished with Aspinall, Snape knew he didn't have the stomach for it. Yet the girl was every bit as guilty as her accomplice and he continued, delivering Howell's promised dozen as harshly as he had the boy's. Aspinall and Howell were dismissed, along with a very grateful house. The steps cleared in a heartbeat as horrified students rushed for their dorms. Snape threw down the cane and plunged into the armchair nearest the fire._

"_I said before you were a useless guttersnipe, Severus Snape, but I was being too kind."_

_It was Licorus Black, the foul-tempered scourge of students. _

"_What do you care?"_

"_I care that I'm stuck serving a fool of a housemaster."_

_"Serve me more and shut up."_

_"Too harsh. Those students learned nothing - nothing, but to despise McGonagall more and to fear you. You deserve to feel the bite of that cane every bit as cruelly as you gave it."_

"_I've felt it, and I survived. They will, too."_

"Licorus said that to you, sir?"

"He did and he was right, though I didn't want to hear it that night."

"Hang on; what was Licorus doing in the common room?"

"That's where his portrait hung back then, and very useful to me he was - when he was actually speaking to me. Only as the Slytherins became kinder to one another and lost their spite, poor old Licorus decided he wasn't having as much fun. He requested a move into the corridor, where he didn't have to bear witness to so much cooperation and friendship."

"When did you listen?"

"Some weeks later. Only that time, it was The Bloody Baron who came to scold me."

"Why?"

"Fear is unsustainable; it burns itself out. The Slytherins just took to better hiding their disobedience. They grew ill-tempered and began to turn on one another. All the gains we'd made as a house began to unravel. The Baron's no bleeding heart, but even he was alarmed at what was happening. He visited me one night."

"What did he say?" Asked AB.

Snape gave a rueful laugh.

"If I told you that, I would lose every last shred of authority I have. But when he'd finally finished roaring at me, he spoke to me. Together we devised The Slytherin Oath; there must be consensus for the students to break the rules, and if anyone turns on another, the Baron reports back to me."

"But what if all the students agree to something dangerous, or cruel?"

"What? _All_ seventy of them? Then that would make me an abysmal housemaster and I'd deserve everything I got. No, Peter. There comes a point when you must trust those you have charge of. The alternative is tyranny."

The two of them contemplated that thought for a moment before Snape spoke again.

"They came good eventually, Howell and Aspinall. I hope they forgave me the beating …"

AB knew they had. A year after their caning, the _Slytherin Bible_ came into existence. Theirs was one of the first entries. Not only was it rancour-free, the pair also claimed to have 'backsides of steel' that even Snape's cane could make little impression upon. But AB was keeping that fact to himself. Snape knew an alarmingly large amount of what went on in Slytherin; he didn't need to know about the _Slytherin Bible_, too.

"I'm sure they did, sir."

The warm reassurance wasn't lost on Snape. He pushed back his chair, and looked at AB's reflection in the glass doors of the bookcase. Upstanding to the point of priggishness, Armitage-Brown was no one's idea of a textbook Slytherin. Then again … Snape was certain he had his head prefect to thank for the outbreak of cloying goodness that followed the Merlin's Day Festival ban. What an operator AB was. Not only had he stopped the Snakes from committing punishable acts, he'd done it by providing such an elegant solution. It'd driven Snape to distraction but left him unable to slipper anyone. The boy had such promise. Tall and agile, he could have been a natural auror. His gentle but cunning mind would have eased him into high office in the Ministry, and his ability in potions should have opened up a slew of opportunities. Could have, would have and should have … what dismal words … But for a single afternoon's high spirits with Urquhart, that glittering future would have belonged to Armitage-Brown. Yet the day of '_The Great Chase'_, two years ago now, Armitage-Brown had seen too much.

It was around '83 that Snape began to ruminate on his position. Two years prior had been his nadir. Had a Death Eater pointed a wand to his throat, he might well have heaved a sigh of relief and told him to get on with it. But life improved; he was grudgingly accepted by most his colleagues; the Slytherins mellowed and he even grew to like them. All of a sudden, his ambivalence towards death disappeared. No use bleating about it, he had to act. And act he did. He lived like a pauper, saved his salary, searched for a suitable location - and two years later bought Loghalsh station. With painstaking research and frustrating setbacks aplenty, he eventually succeeded in making Loghalsh unplottable.

Back then he had no clear plan; all he had was a safe, if decrepit, haven. The first time his bolthole was put to use was in '86. Adrian Pucey's older brother Charlie, finally despairing of life with his evil father, had met with Snape one night in _The Hog's Head_ and thrown himself on his mercy. Rumours were spread that Charlie had fled to the continent, and he became the first resident of Loghalsh, joined two years later by his sister, Emmy. They spent most of their time collecting and cultivating rare herbs for Snape. Snape visited regularly to collect his herbs and occasionally take them to meet Adrian on neutral territory. Polly went there to escape her brutish husband. After he disappeared, she returned to Hogsmeade but still visited. It wasn't until the youngest Weasley was taken in April 1993 that it dawned on Snape what an asset he had.

He could turn older students from their Death Eater parents, but what of the lower years? Should The Dark Lord return, they'd be powerless to take a stand. And if Ginny Weasley could mysteriously disappear, why not others? Severus flew to feverish plotting, noting the names of Death Eater families; who'd wavered in their commitment; the ages of siblings and credible ways to 'disappear' a child. The scribbled plans were added to each night until Armitage-Brown, in a rare moment of mischief, plucked them from his shelf.

Did Severus feel guilty at drawing Armitage-Brown into the plan? Possibly so, but what choice did he have? He could have obliviated the memory, but that was a risky manoeuvre, and in any case, Severus knew he'd need help. So, no. No auror program for the very able Mister Peter Armitage-Brown. Instead, a teaching role in a decommissioned railway station a million miles from anywhere. The poor bastard.

"What did Potter make of the note he stole?" Snape asked.

"Not a lot. To be honest, sir, I'm not sure he even read it properly."

"Potter!" Spat Snape, "The one bloody student that can make Goyle look like a bookworm."

Snape started chasing a thought around his head, but didn't seem able to catch it. Maybe …

"How soon did Miss Granger join in with this caper?"

"The same afternoon, sir."

"I wonder … the meeting you had with Potter when you told him about 'The Great Chase'; it wouldn't have been in the ruined belfry by any chance?"

"Merlin, sir! How do you know that?"

"Oh, I'm very good."

And yet you so seldom mention it, thought AB.

"Where you alone, do you suppose?"

AB pictured the belfry's hexagonal upper chamber. No cupboards, simply piles of church kneelers and hessian sacks. Big piles. Fourteen-year-old Gryffindor-sized piles. He looked to Snape and smiled.

"She was there." Stated Snape, "I'm certain of it. Weasley is the kind of buffoon who'd jump in feet first to 'help a mate', but Miss Granger? No. She'd need a better reason to go breaking rules."

Snape looked hugely pleased with himself as he lounged back in his chair.

"So, Mister Armitage-Brown, here is the state of play. The fourth-year …"

"And Alicia." Added AB.

"Quite. The fourth-year and Alicia have done us proud. Potter and Malfoy's relationship has been cemented, not that it will ever be perfect. Miss Granger has once again stuck her beak into other people's business. If she's not yet aware of our plan, she soon will be. And you, Mister Armitage-Brown, have been not displeasing. You handled Miss Bulstrode's thirst for revenge very capably; no mean feat and I salute you. It's down to you that Miss Pinkerton was able scare Malfoy and his parents. A cruel thing, but it will ultimately serve them well."

AB swelled with pride.

"What happens next term, sir?"

"Next term? I have a matter to take care of, and a situation to watch. I shall trust the fourth to do whatever they have to do - within reason. And you, Mister Armitage-Brown, will get top marks on all your NEWT exams. _The Snape Academy for Sad Souls_ demands a headmaster of the highest calibre."

"_Head_master?!"

"Headmaster, sole master, chief, cook and bottle washer - take your pick."


	5. Of Wiggenbushes

**A/N 1:** Many thanks to Guests, Fan, Michalmil and Hamlet. BTW I have to disagree with you, Hamlet, on human error - history's littered with it. I loosely based the notes business on Watergate; I mean, why leave all those files for the FBI to find when they were long since of any use? Anyway, to each their own! And your point has merit, provided people are always on top of their game. Thanks, as ever, for the feedback.

**A/N 2: **Sorry! It's been ages! We've had bushfires getting extremely close, temperatures of 45C+ and now it's cyclone season (I'm expecting a plague of locusts and famine any day) - TBH just didn't have the energy to write; summer is exhausting!

**Chapter 5: Of Wiggenbushes**

**McGonagall's rooms, 10:20 pm**

"No Scotch?"

Disappointment radiated through the square frames of her spectacles. It was custom for one of them to filch the Highland malt Albus kept in his cabinet, especially when feeling aggrieved with their headmaster. Severus had felt more than aggrieved when he'd learned Dumbledore had long suspected the cause of Potter's headaches. A connection to The Dark Lord, and he'd said nothing. Incredible. Severus couldn't fathom it. What he did fathom was that he and Minerva needed to redouble their efforts with Lucius Malfoy; that would make the situation safer for everyone. As such, he'd left the bottle of pure, triple distilled nectar hidden amongst his tea towels. The drinking binges would need to stop - unpalatable, but such was the life of sacrifice …

"Didn't bring it. You drink too much. The entire staffroom is talking about you."

She refused to react to that. It was what he wanted. Snape continued into her rooms, and flopped down untidily onto her sofa. Frustrated, exhausted and mean.

"Devastating news from Pomona; two of her Badgers have ceased being insipid and had an actual argument. She wanted advice on how to deal with it. I told her to thrash them senseless. Oh, Poppy bleeding Pomfrey! Is she really that cretinous? Surely it's a ruse? Flitwick! Is it wrong to kick a man four feet smaller than yourself to the ground? He has the weight of the world on his shoulders … no one will proofread his fucking manuscript. Good God! Do these people have any idea?!"

Obviously Snape had called in at the staffroom before coming to see her. Minerva thought of all their cheery faces welcoming him - and his likely reaction. Well, they didn't have any idea. So much of Snape and Minerva's plans were secret; how could they understand? She knew that and Snape knew that. Still, a vociferously complaining Snape was a good thing. It was when he went quiet that Minerva became alarmed. He suddenly sat upright.

"We'll never pull this off."

"You're right, Severus; let's not bother."

"We'll die at the first hurdle."

"Die hideously, I'd say." McGonagall replied.

His tack wasn't working. He screwed up his crooked nose and had another thought.

"What say we forget all this and give Muggledom a go? Hogwarts' Express to King's Cross Station, and a mad dash across to Paddington. We could catch a train to the Cotswolds, take a cottage in Minchinhampton and pass ourselves off as amateur botanist and demented old aunt."

"I'm still not taking the bait." She informed him.

"Oh, go on. Just have a nibble at it. I need a bit of fun after the day I've had."

"Stop trying to goad me. Tell me what happened and how you're feeling."

"How I'm feeling?! You sound like Pomona. Hold on … you're not counselling me, are you?" He asked suspiciously.

"Absolutely not!"

Minerva was every bit Snape's equal in her loathing for touchy feely claptrap.

"We have a plan, remember? I want to know what you've accomplished and how ready you are to move onto the next stage."

Snape laughed, then saluted his friend.

"Here's to you, Minerva! As soft and cossetting as a claw hammer!"

And what had he accomplished? He cast his mind back to the evening prior and the Malfoys.

"The Potter boy? He's … he's friends with Draco?"

What had Snape heard in Lucius' voice? Shock that Draco would side with the enemy? No. Pride that his son had hoodwinked the enemy? Not that, either. Perhaps a yearning for something else for his son. A life unhindered by the need for strategic choices. But Lucius must have known the day would come when his dealings with The Dark Lord would impact Draco. Snape had always questioned Lucius' love for his son; concern for himself being so great it seemed to preclude care for another. He'd wanted Narcissa along to guide her husband - she was the silent power in that relationship. One look at Lucius' face, however, had told Snape he'd underestimated his one time friend. Lucius had been broken by Draco's attack.

"What did you expect?" Snape had asked Lucius, "That they were just going to leave Draco?!"

But Lucius had expected just that. The Dark Lord's return, glory and status for his Death Eaters - all accomplished before Draco finished Hogwarts. He was still a child, Lucius had argued. So had they been, Snape had countered.

"He can't have believed that?" Minerva said.

"People will force themselves to believe a lie … if the lie is enticing enough."

It was Narcissa who had swept away the lie.

"It's not Draco they want. They want to destroy you."

Thank Merlin for Narcissa, thought Snape. She knew. Knew that the return of The Dark Lord wasn't the most dangerous time; that the most dangerous time was now. Only the wretched loons in Azkaban were pure enough for Voldemort. Those still at large had all put themselves before him, whether by fading into obscurity, asserting they'd acted out of fear, or - most cowardly of all - claiming to be victims of the Imperius.

"It'll be a relief for them when The Dark Lord comes back." Said Snape to Minerva, "Pucey, McNair and Goyle are far crueller than he'd ever be."

She looked disbelieving.

"Think about what you'd do to avoid his vengeance," Said Snape, "what lengths you'd go to."

Then she remembered Remus Lupin's revelation of the year before; that Peter Pettigrew had stayed hidden twelve years not for fear of Sirius Black, but the other Death Eaters. Severus was right; they were all terrified.

Snape continued his report. Each at-large Death Eater knew the others were compromised; the reason being they were alike; they'd all tried to save their own skin. Their only hope now was to feign servitude to The Dark Lord; scrabble like mad to be more zealous than Voldemort himself would ever demand. The weak and broken would be picked off first - insane, babbling blabbermouth Petronella Flint, mother to Marcus, would be finished. The boy would probably lose his father, too - unless Jasper Flint had the foresight to knock off his wife first. The weak, the mad and the loose-tongued would be gone. And then they'd come for everyone's least favourite parvenu, Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius Malfoy … social climber extraordinaire, the master of arse-licking upwards and kicking downwards. Yet not really a master at all. They all knew him for what he was. If Lucius Malfoy had done one thing right in his life, it had been to desperately love Narcissa Black. Anyone could join the Death Eater ranks; surviving in them was another matter. The quiet woman at his back had kept him safe. The Black line meant something. Of course, Lucius hadn't faced up to this immediately.

"Really, Severus …" He'd drawled, "I expected you to have more nerve. A few silly misunderstandings?! Pucey and McNair would never be so rash … not with me."

His words were hollow, and many more followed in their wake. But though the night was long and tortuous, Severus always knew that the admission would come; that the Malfoys wanted out of The Dark Lord's fold. Such fear he saw in their eyes, Snape could've held it in his hands. The moment had come when he could reveal his own truth; that he had turned from The Dark Lord thirteen years ago.

"How can you trust them?!" Gasped Minerva.

"You knew it had to come to this, Minerva. What other way was there? And think about it; how can they trust me? I was evil once. You know what I did, the lives I ended … But you're right; I couldn't simply trust them."

So they'd made an unbreakable vow. Whoever spoke of the matter to a Death Eater or The Dark Lord himself, died.

"The boy?" Asked Minerva.

"He hasn't joined their ranks yet; we can tell him when the time is right."

Such a momentous occasion, and yet it was curious how the mundane shuffled to the fore. No sooner had the vow been made than the talk became of property, money and possessions. Narcissa would open accounts overseas and begin transferring their wealth. The title deeds to Malfoy Manor would pass to Draco, only actionable upon his twenty-fifth birthday, and treasured objects would be taken to Loghalsh.

"Loghalsh?" Queried Minerva.

"You know, my safe house."

"Ah, yes."

They should have been jumping for joy, whooping it up over the great accomplishment that had been made. But as ever with moments of great import, they merely felt a little deflated - too caught up in what-ifs. What if Lucius hadn't crumbled at the sight of Draco in the hospital bed? What if he'd stood firm and decided to use Draco's friendship with Potter to advance his standing? He could easily offer up The Boy Who Lived upon The Dark Lord's return. What if Narcissa hadn't been wise to the desperate futility of social status? What if the Malfoy's had rejected Snape's offer? Death, that's what.

So much more to discuss. The Malfoys were on board, but what of the next stage? McGonagall and Snape eyed each other and silently asked that very question. Then they drooped. Too much for one night.

"We'll talk tomorrow. You need to sleep now, Severus. Use the floo …"

Tiredness slipped from his face at the mention of 'floo'. His eyes narrowed and his head tilted to the side.

"Your lions. Blue patches on any of them?"

Of course, thought Minerva; Snape had booby-trapped his floo. Weasley had been headed towards a dousing in blue ink when Polly Pinkerton stepped in and saved him … and Polly had left the castle straight after her fake Death Eater turn with no chance to tell Snape what she'd done. Come to think of it, Minerva now reckoned Polly had no intention of telling Snape. What was it she'd said to Weasley? "_Don't tell his nibs I helped you. I'll never hear the end of it if you do._" Well, far be it from Minerva to gainsay fine, young Polly Pinkerton.

"Blue?! What in Merlin's name are you talking about? Sleep!" She ordered, chivvying him into the fireplace, "And lots of it. You're beginning to babble."

She was pleased to note that the green flames didn't entirely mask his annoyance at being out-manoeuvred by students, and vowed then and there to keep silent on the matter. No one called Minerva McGonagall old and demented and got away with it.

**oOo**

**The west staircase, 8:25 am**

Snape had slept well and awoken hopeful. The greatest risk had been taken. He'd told Lucius and Narcissa that he'd renounced The Dark Lord, persuaded them to do the same, and emerged victorious. True, he and Minerva had plenty more to accomplish, but the worst was done. He bounded across the entrance hall, even ignoring the ridiculous heels Daphne Greengrass was tottering about on, and began taking the stairs to the staffroom two at a time. At his retreating back, Pansy raised her eyebrows at Daphne, and both girls decided to head for the dorm, plaster themselves in make-up and spend the day flirting with Pucey and Bletchley.

Snape was feeling so chipper, he'd resolved to go and say something amiable to his colleagues - even by his standards, he'd been curt the evening before. Mulling over whether or not to proofread more of Flitwick's tripe, he turned the corner and saw something that only increased his happiness.

"Well, well … a curious sight indeed. What's going on here?"

He spread his arms to either bannister, thus blocking the descent of Harry, Hermione, Ron, Millicent and … Neville Longbottom! He stooped to closely peruse each of their faces, pausing extra long at Longbottom's. The boy squeaked and started shuffling, stumbling onto the stair below and almost imperceptibly mumbling 'just wait'. Why was the overgrown dormouse telling him to wait? About to have fun interrogating him, Severus stopped himself. Too easy. Where was the challenge? Instead, he clasped Millicent's chin and gave a firm shake.

"Are you bullying the Gryffindors again, Miss Bulstrode?"

"You betcha, sir!" Grinned Millicent.

Snape stepped fluidly to the side.

"Then carry on - and five points to Slytherin!"

Hermione smiled at the jokey exchange, until she heard the tinkling of five emeralds dropping into the Slytherin hourglass below.

"_So_ irresponsible. I can't believe he just did that!" She huffed, and even Ron dropped his scowl to smile behind her back.

When they reached the ground floor, Harry told them to wait a few minutes while he ducked into the dungeons, quickly followed by Millicent. Next it seemed the idea of charging out into the grounds to be willingly stung by wiggenbushes was beginning to pall even on Hermione.

"Maybe there's something else we can do to get into the hospital and see Draco?"

"You're daft!" Said Neville, "This is the best plan ever. It's genius, Hermione."

"Thanks, Neville."

He'd changed his tune since yesterday evening. She didn't actually believe him, but it was sweet of him to be so positive.

"Are there any other plants we could 'accidentally' brush up against that would get us in?"

"Yeah!" Joined in Ron, "There must be loads. Come on Neville, you're always telling us how much safety clobber you have to wear when you're helping Professor Sprout."

"No! There's not! There isn't!" Stammered Neville, "The others only cause problems in the summer!"

Hermione wasn't sure that sounded right, but Harry and Millicent were back,

"Just a few tweaks to the plan, Brainbox. Should make our time in the hospital more enjoyable."

And after hearing that, Hermione supposed they'd better get on with it. Soon enough they were on their way to the greenhouses and beyond.

**oOo**

**Hogwarts grounds, 9:45 am**

Hermione had dreamt it up, so it was only right she went first.

"You're sure it's a wiggenbush?" She asked.

"Pretty sure." Answered Neville, peering at the speckled leaf with a pocket magnifying glass.

She looked a fright. Frizzy hair almost standing vertically, and so covered in leaves, she resembled a wiggenbush herself. Her eyes and nose were scarlet from all her sneezing. She'd been pushed into nine bushes thus far; none of which did much more than send plumes of springtime pollen up her nose.

"Longbottom, you clown! You're supposed to be the expert here!" Called Millicent, though it wasn't said with the usual Slytherin venom.

All those present - with the exception of Neville - were experiencing a bit of glee at Hermione's plight. They might as well enjoy it now; they knew as soon as a wiggenbush was located, Hermione's mad scheme would see them in itch-induced agony.

"They all look the same!" Wailed Neville, "It's all these _vicinus mutatio_ shrubs. They change their form to copy any plants nearby. But I've got a good feeling about this one; just remember to jump right up before it grabs at your feet, okay?"

One. Two. Three. Shove! Hermione face-planted into the shrub, and immediately leapt up ouch-ing and scratching like mad. The others looked on in alarm and wished they'd gone first - so much worse when you knew what was coming. Harry beat Millicent to it, and got his ordeal over with. She was the next, and Ron was left eyeing his friends and trying to gauge just what bloody torture he was about to inflict on himself.

"Great sodding plan, Hermione." He grumbled.

But he did it - and rose to complain possibly more than he ever had.

"We're all in the same boat, Ronald." Reproved Hermione.

"Yeah - thanks to you!"

Not the time or place for a full-blown spat, thought Harry. He turned to Neville to thank him for helping them out, and saw him - arms outstretched and eyes squeezed shut.

"Three, two …"

"No, Neville!"

"I can do this, Harry!"

"Do what?" Scoffed Millicent, "Fall over into a bush?! Well, bully for you!"

But neither Harry's pleas, nor Millicent's sarcasm dissuaded him. Before they knew it, Neville was face down in the shrub, but rather than stand up, he appeared to be squirming.

"So he can, in fact, fall into a bush; he just can't stand up again." Surmised Millicent wryly.

"Shut it, Millicent!" Snapped Hermione, "We get it; you're good with clever retorts. How about helping first and being a bloody smart mouth later?!"

All eyes, bar Neville's, turned to her. Hermione Granger swearing!

"Sorry! It's the itching; I didn't mean to say that! But just shut it anyway!"

"It does that." Called a muffled voice from deep in a shrub, "Makes you grumpy and say what you mean. Didn't I tell you? Now don't stand there like gormless idiots. Help me up!"

"You're the gormless idiot, and I'm trying!" Huffed Harry, "Move your bloody foot, Neville!"

They heaved and bickered - and bickered some more. Neville's pullover rode up and his trousers began to slide down. They managed to flip him onto his back, but he was far from free of the shrub. The plant's roots had twined around his legs - unsurprising given all the odd wriggling he'd been doing. Millicent and Hermione grabbed their wands and began casting _diffindos_ to sever the tendrils.

"You'll damage the plants, you morons!" Shrieked Neville.

Ron looked at Harry in amazement; Neville had just called Hermione and Bulstrode morons!

"What're you looking at?!" Snarled Harry grumpily to Ron.

"Don't know. The sodding label's fallen off, hasn't it?" Snapped Ron.

"You're a first-class, grade A cretin, Longbottom." Pronounced Millicent as they finally set Neville on his feet.

"You're a slimy Snake that can't even walk in a straight line you're so twisted." Shot back Neville.

"Don't call her that!" Shouted Harry, "Millicent's brilliant!"

"Thanks, Potter. But shut your trap; I fight my own battles."

"Don't speak to Harry like that!" Called Hermione.

And on and on it went until Professor Sprout heard the arguing and came running from the small greenhouse.

"What in Merlin's … Oh, my!"

She took in their bedraggled state and the angry splotches of Wiggenbush rash blooming on their faces.

"Off with you to Madam Pomfrey! Off you go now, straight to the hospital wing! No dawdling!"

"You're the one making us dawdle!" Snarled Neville, "Move out of the way!"

"Hospital wing? What an ingenious idea …" Snarked Millicent to Hermione.

"Yes …" Huffed Hermione, "Sick people and hospitals. It's so crazy, it might just work!"

Pomona looked appalled. Imagine Neville Longbottom, her loveliest student, speaking to her like that. She did contemplate scolding them for their rudeness, but decided to let them pass - and have a soothing cup of dandelion tea instead.

Their route to the hospital wing was unimpeded; at every stage, the tides parted to make way for the snarling, bickering lot that was Hermione, Millicent, Harry, Ron and Neville.

**oOo**

**The hospital wing, 10:35 am**

He bet they were all having a great time. Last few days of the holidays, they'd be racing round getting up to all sorts. And where was he? Stuck on his own with that mad old bint Pomfrey for company. Where were his so-called friends? They were bloody useless! He sat up in bed and fumed. As soon as he got out of here, he was going to take every rook from every chess set - and toss them on the fire. That was Crabbe sorted. Goyle? Hmm … tough one. He could nick that bloody 'safe stone' Snape had given him to ward off bad dreams - but he knew Snape would slipper his arse off if he found out. No, he had a better idea. He'd volunteer Goyle to alphabetize the entire Slytherin library next time it was their chore day. Millicent? Too easy. He'd spell permanent mascara and lipstick on her face; she'd bloody hate it. Just about to dream up revenge on Potter, Madam Pomfrey called out,

"Mister Malfoy? You've had it far too good for far too long. You have company …"

and Malfoy went from feeling like the only child Father Christmas had neglected to feeling like all his Christmases had come at once. Looking towards the hospital doors, Malfoy's face widened into a grin so broad it was almost painful. His gang was here - and what a miserable, grouchy lot they were!

"Ouch!" Squealed Granger, "Watch what you're doing, Neville!"

Neville?! Great Merlin! Longbottom was here, too. The Gryffindor softy looked anything but as he elbowed and mowed down the others in his haste to get the bed with the extra pillows.

"Shove off, Harry. I got here first." Boomed Neville.

"Dickhead." Spat Harry.

"Bloody excellent!" Whispered a rapt Malfoy.

He watched delightedly as Madam Pomfrey directed them to the boys' and girls' lavatories along with regulation issue hospital PJ's.

"What's wrong with them?" He asked.

"Don't worry, dear …" Soothed Madam Pomfrey.

Malfoy wasn't worrying; he was loving it.

"Wiggenbush rash - maddeningly itchy and turns people into fearful grumps, unable to not say what's on their minds. But you mustn't fret; it's not serious in the least. Only trouble is no one's ever caught the rash in Hogwarts before … sort of thing that only occurs with landscape gardeners. I mean to say … you practically have to dive head first into a bush. I don't carry the antidote. What on earth am I to do with them?"

Draco Malfoy was currently holed up in the hospital due to being scared out of his wits by a Death Eater. That he and the others now suspected the Death Eater was a phony didn't alter that fact. Added to that, he'd been subject to the Cruciatus Curse - of only a few seconds duration, but it had still hurt like buggery. The idea that popped into his mind, however, made that ordeal seem well worth this payoff. Listening to the swearing, scuffling and arguments coming from the lavatories, Malfoy had to pinch his thigh hard under the covers to keep from sniggering as he shared his idea with Madam Pomfrey.

"Crikey Madam Pomfrey, they must be in an awful lot of pain. And you have no antidote, you say? Poor things. I wonder …"

He tailed off to rub his chin ponderously.

"Wonder what, Mister Malfoy?"

"Well …"

"_Yes_?"

"We've been studying antidotes all year in Potions. I wonder if Professor Snape has one?"

"Oh, you're simply marvellous! Why didn't that occur to me? You're 'Poppy's Poppet of the Week' _again_, young Malfoy!"

Madam Pomfrey raced off to assess the extent of the rashes, and then to fire-call Snape. Malfoy hid all the pillows from Neville's bed, plumped his own and lay back to consider a job well done. Would Snape have the antidote? He neither knew nor cared. The goal was to get Snape face to face with this lot. Them telling Snape exactly what was on their minds - _ha_! His housemaster's head was shortly about spin in circles and blast off his shoulders - and it was going to be a hoot to watch!

**oOo**

**North wing of the castle, 11:00 am**

Unfortunately there were no fireplaces on the ramparts where Snape smoked his morning gasper. Thus it was that Sybill Trelawney, the staffroom's sole occupant, took the fire-call from Poppy and relayed it to him as he was re-entering the castle and she was heading to her tower.

"_Severus_! Disease! Illness! A plague is upon the students … they lie in a far off place where poisons wield the power to heal …"

"The hospital wing?"

Trelawney gave a slight huff at Snape's too-easy interpretation of her mystical words.

"You must aid them. I saw it all in the dances of the flames …"

"Poppy fire-called you?"

Trelawney was ready for him this time,

"As you say, so shall it have been …"

"What else did Poppy say?" Asked Snape.

"Ah! But the flames flicker ever lower … their dance has reached its end …"

"You've forgotten."

He raced off to the hospital before she could answer.

**oOo**

"Oh, here he comes! Whispering Death! Think you feel bad now?" Neville asked the others, "Wait until _he_ gets stuck into you!"

Snape froze mid-stride. What was happening? He'd made his usual silent approach into the hospital wing and remained unseen by all but … Longbottom. Dense Longbottom, more alert than his Snakes and Granger? Transcendentally lily-livered Longbottom having the nerve to speak of him in that manner?! Curious indeed … But far from feeling outraged at the insolent display, Snape sensed an opportunity. He sidled a few steps closer and peered. Angry red rashes, furious scratching and even more furious tempers, Snape was filled with hope that the fools before him had all been in contact with a certain plant.

"Altercation with a wiggenbush?" He asked Poppy.

"And how!" Replied the flustered matron, "Mister Longbottom appears to have wrestled semi-naked with one. The others' symptoms are a little milder, thankfully. Trouble is, Severus, I don't carry any antidote for it. I don't suppose …?"

Snape had no doubt the wiggenbush misadventure had been a Granger-inspired scam to get into the hospital with Malfoy. He was suddenly tempted to award fifty points to Gryffindor. He did, however, manfully swallow down the urge. The girl was keen, he had to give her that. Wiggenbush stings were pure torture. They were also a key ingredient in Veritaserum, the truth potion. Without the other ingredients, he couldn't get Longbottom and the others to spill everything - but the stings were enough for them to blurt out exactly what they were thinking. His mind pinged with possibilities.

"Not sure." He fibbed in reply to Poppy's question, "Although … perhaps some of the generic sting antidotes would work."

He took a pause.

"Come to think of it, I'm certain I have a vial in my classroom drawer … that Longbottom made …"

"_Noooo_!" Yelled Hermione, "Not _his_! Anyone's but Neville's! Don't be a moron, Snape!"

Perfect, thought Severus. An honest reply. No leap to Longbottom's defence. No 'Neville's really a genius; you just scare the pants off him'. Snape looked at Potter, Weasley and Bulstrode. They were agog at Granger, now yanking his sleeve and ranting at him.

"Ha! Ha!" Crowed Harry, "You got us into this mess Hermione, and now Snape's gonna bloody wallop you!"

"He'd better not! I'll kick his arse if he does!" Shouted Neville.

"Ignore them! Listen to me; go and get a potion that you've made, or one that Malfoy's made. Do it _now_!"

The rashes quite clearly lived up to their hype, yet still Snape kept talking in calm and measured tones. It was something that initially startled Malfoy, then disappointed him - no exploding housemaster, and no dire threats of gruesome detentions and interminable slipperings. But Malfoy was a schemer, and quick to spot a fellow schemer. Snape was up to something.

"Malfoy? Why would I choose one of Malfoy's potions, Miss Granger?"

"I get better marks than him, but that's only because he spends too much time teasing Gryffindors. He _feels_ potions; he's a natural. I just read and remember a lot of books."

"Oh puke, Hermione!" Roared Neville, "Stop being nice about Malfoy! He's a berk!"

"Don't start bagging Malfoy!" Cried Ron, "He's alright. Just can't help being a tit sometimes."

"No, Ron." Disagreed Harry, "He's a tit a bit more often than 'sometimes', but he is alright … deep down … in a well-hidden sort of way, I mean."

Snape looked to Malfoy and quirked his eyebrows. Malfoy returned the favour.

"I think '_Tit_' has got to be better than '_Whispering Death'_, hasn't it sir?"

"You're enjoying this far too much, Malfoy."

Poppy abandoned any hope of quelling the various fracas that sprang up as soon as someone spoke. She stuck them to their beds, retreated to her office and closed the door firmly. Snape, meanwhile, had headed down to his office to retrieve two bottles of wiggenbush antidote.

**oOo**

So Frank and Alice's son _did_ have a backbone somewhere, mused Snape rifling through his shelves. And Weasley didn't loathe Malfoy. What's more, Malfoy had heard it straight from the horse's mouth. This was a good day indeed. The bottles pocketed, Snape returned at once to Madam Pomfrey's domain, mindful that the useful side effect of the wiggenbush stings might soon wear off.

Poppy administered to the girls behind screens whilst Snape took the boys one by one into her office to dab rashes with potion.

"Wiggenbush stings? How?" He asked Ron.

"Sodding Hermione, wasn't it?" Snarled Ron, "Wants to find out what really went on with Malfoy last night."

Horror-stricken, Ron clamped his hands over his mouth too late. Snape feigned disinterest and continued dabbing at Ron's ankles before swapping to his neck.

"Shirt off, Weasley."

It was as tender as Snape's bedside manner got. Ron fumbled with his buttons, and Snape figured out what was puzzling him: how did Weasley know anything had happened to Malfoy last night? He took a punt.

"Got help removing the blue ink, did you?"

Ron's hands clamped tighter around his mouth. Snape prised them away.

"Ink bombs didn't touch me. She got rid of them. How did you get a girlfriend like her anyway? I mean, _you_?!"

Ah … Polly, thought Snape. He schooled his features lest he betray his joy at the prospect of next meeting with her. Always a treat to be with P. Pinkerton, but the deliciousness was doubled when Snape had something to reproach her for … Inappropriate thoughts for children, Snape reminded himself. He scowled fiercely at Ron,

"Are you delirious, Weasley? What in Merlin's name are you blathering about?"

Ron despatched to the ward, Snape ushered in Harry.

"Touching words about Malfoy. I daresay you meant not a single one of them."

"I _did_!"

Snape's hand paused, unwilling to ease the boy's itching until he'd wrung the last bit of advantage. Something had been niggling at him for a while now.

"Careful, Potter. I'm hardly likely to be forgiving of a second bout of cheek, am I?"

"No." Huffed Harry, "You're bloody not! Thought you would've caned me the way I spoke to you last night. Hurts like hell, the cane … wouldn't have blamed you, though. _Shit_! What am I saying?!"

Snape was puzzled also. Not about the uncontrollable urge to speak one's mind. Nor the reason they wanted to get into the hospital; that he understood - and admired. But why in Merlin's name choose a wiggenbush to fall into? The spores from a leaping toadstool would be enough to cause an extended sneezing fit and a day with Poppy. Any number of plants would produce far less acute symptoms. And why Longbottom of all people …?

"Still," He continued to Harry, "if I am forced to punish you, you can always complain to your Godfather, I suppose. I'm sure he's heard all about your time in Slytherin. I'm only surprised he hasn't challenged me to a ..."

"I've never said anything to Sirius about being in Slytherin!" Interrupted Harry.

That explained the absence of threats from Black. A pity. Snape would've welcomed a wizard's duel with the arrogant ponce. Just the mention of the man's name was enough to have Severus back to his old vicious ways with Harry.

"Tut tut, Mister Potter. You kept it secret from daddy's best friend, your own darling Godfather? Why ever do that?"

"He wouldn't understand."

"Why not?" Snape asked again.

"He'd expect me to hate it …"

"And you don't?"

"You know I don't."

He wasn't fishing for compliments; another question had occurred to him.

"But what would you change?" He asked.

"Nothing … _wait_! I would! Mix it up. Put Millicent in Gryffindor for a bit; she'd love McGonagall. Yeah! Mix it up and stop being so bleeding predictable."

Snape looked askance at Harry.

"I mean, what an obvious bloody choice to put in Slytherin … _me_! Use your brain! What about all the others?! You want the houses to get on better? Then do something clever about it!"

Would Poppy object terribly much to a brisk thrashing for one of her patients? Unfortunately so. Snape settled for getting Harry in a headlock and roughly daubing his face with antidote. Whoops! Some of the foul-tasting potion found its way into Harry's mouth … what a shame.

**oOo**

Longbottom's strident complaining was wearying Snape. He growled out his name, and Neville crashed through the door. Snape stared at him, barely crediting this was the same boy who each potions lesson wilted under his stare into a puddle of dropped vials and mangled flobberworms.

"_Well_?" Demanded Neville, "You gonna give me the antidote, or what?!"

Snape took his time answering, then dangled the bottle tantalisingly.

"This antidote isn't yours … yours was, unsurprisingly, about as useful as a chocolate teapot. I made this. It's soothing, it's relaxing, it's calming …"

Neville made to snatch the bottle. Snape shook his head.

"Quid pro quo, Mister Longbottom … something for something. This stunt has Miss Granger written all over it, but whose idea was the wiggenbushes?"

"Mine!" Snarled Neville.

"You knew about the side effect?"

"Yes, I knew! I'm rubbish in your class because you're a rubbish teacher. I know plants, though!"

Snape only needed to raise an eyebrow for Neville to continue.

"I'm not clever like Hermione, but I'm not the dope everyone thinks I am! I'm not stupid like you're always saying! If you weren't so horrible to me, I wouldn't make half the mistakes I do in class. I'm sick of being laughed at and left out of stuff. I knew if I got stung by that plant, I'd say what I really felt and I'm saying it. Harry's not the only one who lost his parents; I did too. My dad might not have been a famous quidditch chaser, but he was a good man. I can be like him!"

Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Alicia Mayhew, himself … the group of outcast children. Snape had always known Longbottom belonged in their ranks, too; why had he tortured him? Of course, it played well with certain Slytherin parents, but there was more. Longbottom's wide-eyed fear reminded him too much of his younger self, stumbling and stuttering as he was mocked by The Marauders, or Minerva. Reliving past torments on vulnerable children … Dear God, I'm such an arsehole; I've really got to grow up, Snape berated himself.

He looked at Neville and nodded in response to the boy's tirade. There was nothing more for Neville to say. He'd achieved his goal; he'd spoken his mind to the one person that scared him most. He nodded back at Snape, then stayed quiet as his clothing was eased aside and the potion gently administered. It worked its magic and Neville, exhausted by his rage of honesty, began to droop. Snape raised him by his shoulders to shepherd him back to bed. Just before opening the door, he pulled Neville into his chest, holding him fast and stooping to whisper into his ear,

"Your father was a good man, Longbottom. But don't forget your mother; Alice was one of the bravest I've met."

Over the course of the next few years, Snape gave Neville cause to believe he'd imagined that moment of kindness. But it was true; Snape _had_ hugged Neville Longbottom. Sort of. Very briefly. Just a tiny bit.


	6. Update

Update in response to a few queries:

Hello! The story's not abandoned. I'm just incredibly busy converting face to face lessons into online lessons, and trying to figure out assessments - like a ton of other people. As soon as I have time, I'll be posting the next chapter.

Keep well!

M


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